The Grand Cessation
by Serria
Summary: Heero, Duo, Trowa, Quatre and Wufei all try to recover from scars that were the cost of living a soldier's life. When an enemy begins manufacturing gundanium alloy, they must protect their perceived peace by confronting the truth of human nature.
1. Restlessness

**The Grand Cessation**

**Disclaimer:** I am trying to buy the rights to Gundam Wing, and I have like twenty six dollars to do it... but unfortunately the G-boys are not currently mine. They belong to... um. Whoever owns Gundam Wing. Which is not me (yet).

**Summary:** Heero, Duo, Trowa, Quatre and Wufei all try to recover from scars that were the cost of living a soldier's life. When an enemy begins manufacturing gundanium alloy, they must protect their perceived peace by confronting the truth of human nature.

* * *

**Chapter 1: RESTLESSNESS **

* * *

_4-12-AC190: Dear Journal, _

_Uncle came for a visit today with his wife, my Aunt Rose. I had never met Rose before, but she is a kind woman. She is from England down on Earth. I love Uncle. He plays Ultimate Battle Simulator with me, when Father never does. Father doesn't like such video games, he thinks that they encourage violence. But I know that they aren't real, and they are fun. Uncle thinks so, too. Uncle is very good at them. He promised to bring me a new video game from down on Earth when he comes up for _Eid _this year. I think that Uncle loves me more than Father does. I suppose that's because I'm just his puppet.  
_

* * *

Seasons on the space colonies were never very vivid, but this year seemed different. By the reckoning of the L2 district, it must have been autumn - it was late August and this particular cluster chose to mimic Earth's northern hemisphere. In the past, the artificial weather control towers would dim the bulbs that the colonists called 'sunlight', chilled the temperature and turned on the outer fans for a breeze. In the cooler atmosphere, the trees naturally browned a bit, but there really wasn't any drastic change. In the spring the control towers would warm things again, skipping winter all together because artificial snow had been too much work when they tried it in the past. To someone who had been to Earth, the climate of Colony 2-17XC would be a rather obnoxious joke. To those who grew up there, it was always a nice reminder of home in the emptiness of space. 

But this year was different. The Eve War took considerable damage on many of the colonies, so the following year had been spent on reconstruction. During the heavy cost project - which their own Quatre Raberba Winner had helped to fund - much of the now outdated equipment had been taken apart and new, more modern technology had been installed. That must have been why Colony 2-17XC felt so charming this year. The breezes were cooler, and swayed from gentle to near forceful - with almost zero hum from the fans. The tiles around the sky - or rather, ceiling - glowed with a more pink, orangish light. It even smelled like autumn with its crisp-falling-leaves aroma. The only thing that felt out of place was the rose bush right outside of the construction area. He had always assumed that flowers were supposed to wilt in the autumn, but the roses on that bush were as red as blood, like a tribute to those who had died in the war. Or maybe roses staying in bloom all year. He really didn't know, nor care.

_So this is peace, huh_, he thought, inhaling his surroundings. The roses were pretty, resting underneath a ripe apple tree. _Sure wouldn't mind getting used to it!_

"Maxwell, heads up!" a stern and raspy man's voice called.

Duo Maxwell blinked his thoughts out of the way as Howard directed the large, dusty, yellow crane in his direction. The older man was yelling and waving out the window. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of his crazy aged comrade. His hair was white (though Howard insisted it was very light gray-blonde) and wrinkles were etched in his tanned face, but he moved and spoke with such vigor that Duo refused to believe he was a day over sixty. The crane gave a muffled _vroom_ as Howard applied the brakes and switched it to park mode.

"Whacha doing standing there, boy?" Howard demanded, but with an exaggerated tone of voice. With the hand that wasn't on the handlebars of the big machine, the rather hippie of a scientist raised up his dark blue sunglasses. "I'm about to drop this big pile of rubble on your pretty head! Zeus almighty! To think you're a soldier, Duo!"

The seventeen year old ex-pilot turned his head and shook his head. "Used to be, old guy. Me, I'm nothin' more than your common every day construction worker now, same as you." Duo stretched, raised his elbows to the synthetic heavens and cracked his knuckles behind his back. He moved out of Howard's way, kicking some tin junk that littered the ground as he did. "Until I find something else, that is!"

"Listen to you!" Howard yelled above the roar of the machinery. "Just a kid with the attention span of a kangaroo! Delivery boy one day, construction worker the next, and you were even a car salesman I remember!"

The brunette was about to defend the honor of kangaroos, but he honestly didn't know what kind of attention span they had if neither did Howard, and it wouldn't be worth it to yell over the engine. "Yeah, well, old pal, I'm just enjoying the freedom and peace. I never had the chance to be something legal, 'cept if I was only posing for a mission. There's lots to do now that I got the time, you know?"

Howard lowered the crane's jaws and released the rubble into the pile. The old man smiled, but for some reason still looked a little sad. Which was a nice clash of contrast, the youth thought, in his Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses. "I think you're just restless, kid. 'S been two years since the wars, you know, and the colonies and countries are at peace. I s'pose it just takes a little longer for people's guts to be there too, yeah?"

Duo laughed in disagreement, though he eerily understood exactly what the old guy was saying. "You crazy ol' git! My gut tells me when I want a doughnut and nothin' more. I tell you, we've all had enough of war. I just wanna take it easy now."

"Not saying we haven't! An' I think you _should_ be takin' it easy, after all you poor boys've been through." Howard switched the crane into park mode, and flicked off the key. The engine gave a last rumble before dying down. The old man opened the door and climbed down the ladder (a little stiffly, Duo noticed with concern). He reached into the pocket of his khaki shorts and pulled out a ripe, red apple. He tossed it to his younger friend. "But people gave up a lot for peace, and it's a team effort. We gotta shoot for everyone participating in the new Earth-Space Alliance, and if they got issues, they gotta speak up on 'em before it turns into another ruckus. We're all pretty vulnerable right now."

"Yeah, yeah." Duo caught the apple. He sniffed it thoughtfully, then took a big bite. "We're disarmed though. I mean, all of us. The Preventers can cut down a fist fight."

"Don't that scare people? That Preventers got all this power?" Howard asked this very seriously, and without his usual smile.

Duo frowned. "It's a risk we gotta take. I dunno if we'll ever be rid of all the psychos, so the Preventers gotta stay."

"Exactly my point, my boy!" Howard said with excitement, but then he coughed. The single cough turned into a fit of coughs, each one a heavy hack. Uncomfortably, Duo pretended not to notice. "Oh, ah, I'm just being a dinky old man I reckon. When you live as long as me you just gotta wonder."

"You lived a bad time," the younger pointed out, chewing his apple with sincerity. "We've got Relena doing everything she can, and they listen to her on Earth. Then we got Quatre up with us in the skies..."

"I'm not sayin' that there's another conspiracy," he said hastily. "I just mean, I think maybe Treize was right, and there is somethin' in folk that gotta fight, and it jumps at the chance sometimes. You kids and the other younger folk, you got a generation of fighters and survivors out there. Maybe now they'll lick their wounds an' try an' forget the past. But instinct don't die unless with years o' perfect breeding, and we're never gonna get that."

"Yeah, well," Duo shrugged, wondering who put decaff in the old once-scientist's coffee mug. "You just gotta have a little faith in people, and hope that when that time comes they'll choose right."

"Damn, no one had no faith in me when I told 'em I overcame my drinking problem!" Howard chuckled.

Then Duo chuckled too, and talk of war ceased from conversation. Instead, they talked about basketball. National basketball leagues were being established on Earth again, after a two year break. The sports industry on the colonies was considering starting its own league as well, which most colonists agreed was a good idea even at their tax paying expense. Howard laughed and said that Duo ought to show up for try outs, to which Duo grinned and said of course he would be there, and he'd make the team too - until he got bored and moved on to golf. They had a good time finishing up work in the junk pile, and Duo was reminded of the old times when Howard would help to fix up Deathscythe after every battle. That man sure had a good heart, even if he was a skeptic at times. Eventually, the sky-tiles began to darken into a sunset.

Duo clocked out for the evening and started on back to his apartment. Hilde might or might not be there - Duo never knew anymore. He _was_ content though, he thought as he stepped along a concrete sidewalk, despite what that old loon thought. He _was_. It wasn't battle instinct that kept him job hopping. _Well, sure, it's definitely different! But what do you expect? I'm just an ex-orphan, ex-thief, ex-Gundam pilot, ex-delivery boy..._ Duo kicked a pebble in front of him. He smirked when he thought about it - what were pebbles doing on the colonies, anyway? It was a nice touch though, just like the autumn air and the red-gold sunset. Just like the fountains that they had built and the wishing wells that he passed by, or the small pine trees that lined his path. No one _needed_ that stuff, but it kept people interested. It kept people from finding other ways to entertain themselves, like rebellion.

When he arrived back at his small room-and-bathroom apartment, he found it empty. Lord knew what Hilde was up to. Duo saw that she must have been there recently though. Potato chips littered the cheap cotton couch, and the television was on as well as the lamp. With a little sigh - he wasn't sure if it was one of relief and contentedness or one of annoyance at the potato chips - he plopped down onto the couch, twisting his neck until he heard the wonderful cracking sound. He picked up the newspaper that was scattered in a mess on the carpet and began to read, only to find out that it was from two days ago. _Go figure_. He read an article anyway, or at least his eyes went through the words.

He found his mind drifting, and as he often did he wondered about the other Gundam pilots. He knew that a few of them worked off and on with the Preventers, but perhaps with the exception of Wufei and just _maybe_ Trowa, they were all trying to move on. Quatre, well, that guy was so busy in the office he wouldn't have time to put down any rebels even if he wanted to. Duo had never really understood Quat's situation. He knew that Quatre couldn't _legally_ inherit the business until he was twenty-one, even though he still had the rights for it ever since Ahmad Winner's death. It was in the hands by law in his oldest sister that chose to take on the responsibility - which in this case was thirty year old A'mal Saabira Winner. But even so, Quatre had to do all the legal work and his input was absolutely required for all serious decisions regarding the family business, the grand Winner Enterprises. Not to mention he had to act as a representative when WEO was involved in any business or political meetings. Duo regretted not seeing the Arabian boy more. During the war, out of all the pilots he had felt closest to the cheerful, strategic blonde. Maybe he would try to call him again, but the last time he had to leave a message and no one had got back to him yet.

The television was mumbling softly, and Duo was snapped into reality when he heard the name "Winner". He sat up from his slouched position and fumbled for the remote, turning up the volume. His eyes scanned wildly for Quatre, but there was no such boy and he figured that he must have just been thinking too hard. Wait, no - there it was again.

"-Mujahid Raberba Winner expresses his concern about the mysterious bombing. Winner owns considerable stock in that area and is funding local police in investigating. It is unknown if the video satellite that exploded was a mere malfunction in the wiring or a terrorist attack. No other attacks or explosions have occurred in this 16-44YZ area, but Preventers are ready to take action if need be. Here is Ms. Une of the Preventer's department, online live from New York..."

Duo turned the volume down, less interested. After all, Lady Une didn't look too worried. A little tired maybe, but probably irritated that the masses came to her with every little technical error that happened in the high-tech workings of modern society. Yes, granted, it was her _job_, but when Duo spent some time as a Preventer he noticed the same thing.

_Brrrring! Brrrring!_ The phone rang. The brunette reached over for the phone that was also tossed on the floor. It was probably one of Hilde's friends or some computerized telemarketer, but he had nothing better to do. "Howdy," he said with exaggerated cheer.

"Maxwell," a sleek, calm voice answered. Duo recognized it at once as Wufei. "You are well?"

Duo cracked a genuine smile. "I'm great, pal! How are you? Still in the Preventers? I'm watching your boss on TV right now."

"About that," Wufei answered, not wasting any time. "It was a research video satellite that exploded, three days ago. They just reported it now because it's so far away from headquarters in New York, and the signal was slow to be lost. Trowa was in the 16-44YZ area shortly after we found out, so I asked him to look into it between circus shows."

"That right?" Duo already had a rock in his stomach. It was too good to believe anyway that Wufei might call just for a friendly chat. No, instead, there was something serious going on, and he wanted help.

"It's a mystery," Wufei said hesitantly. "We don't know who blew it up."

"You want me to shuttle over there and figure out how it malfunctioned?" Duo asked with half hearted helpfulness. "You're talking to the repair-man expert, right here, buddy! I know machines in and out, in fact a couple weeks ago I built 'em for a living."

"Oh no, it was on purpose." Wufei hesitated yet again. "Sally and I studied the last pictures that this satellite - called Ann 18, by the way - sent us. It was approaching a small comet which appears to be orbiting Mars from a good distance away. The comet was recently named Ereshkigal 2, for the record. If we maximized the image quality and zoomed in like hell, we saw a ship land."

"Who?"

"We don't know, you dolt! The image quality could hardly make out the ship, let alone some logo or identification. It's not a pleasure cruise, I checked the government records and nothing run by the Earth-Colony Alliance was scheduled to be in that area."

"So it's privately owned."

"Stop interrupting!" Wufei snapped - an indication that Duo was correct. "Trowa headed over, anyway, and was met with some kind of resistance."

"He okay?" Duo ignored the earlier command to keep quiet to express honest concern, as well as annoy Wufei. "Did he have a gun?"

"What do you think he had, Maxwell?! A Gundam?" Wufei huffed. "Oh no, Heavyarms blew up into dust, just like Deathscythe and the rest. We don't have Gundams."

"No shit, Sherlo-"

"But _they_ are going to, if we don't do a thing about it. Trowa reported back that there are mines of the element Gundium needed to make gundanium alloy ...and he has suspicions that they might be manufacturing it, right on the comet."

Wufei let Duo have a moment of speechlessness. "N-n-now, just wait a second," Duo stuttered. "They don't, they don't have... they wouldn't be making Gundams, right?"

"Why not? Who knows what evil will do to penetrate peace?" There was a hint of self righteousness in his voice. "We just don't want to take any chances. I called you to ask if you're in on a chance to smother some parasites, or not. Trowa is putting on the suit again. I can't get ahold of Heero, and WEO needs Quatre too much to let him vacation."

For a second, Duo paused. _"Smother some parasites..."_ Maybe Howard was right, the Preventers did had a lot of power. Maybe people resented them. Was a Gundam so different from a space shuttle, fancy guns and government funding? "Uh, yeah. Of course I'm in, Wufei, buddy. Aw man, and just when I was getting comfortable, too! Peace is a fickle mistress, don't you say?"

"People are fickle, not peace," Wufei said in a voice of iron. "Peace is a _fragile_ mistress, and fools are always trying to rape her. That's why the Preventers are here."

"Preventers." Dully, Duo wondered, _but if it's in human nature to fight, then who's preventing, anyhow? We're delaying the inevitable._

The self proclaimed God of Death decided to put on his cape once again, and agreed to meet Wufei at a designated space colony that was closer to the action. Duo didn't really know what to think as he stood outside, a small suitcase in hand. Except maybe that the autumn air tasted as crisp and cool as ever. Damned weather control towers had the season down good.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED. . . **

**Author's Notes:**

1. "Eid" from the journal entry: a nickname for the holiday at the end of Ramadan in Islam. Kinda like Christmas.

2. I took some liberties with colony names, etc. I also took liberties with the workings of the colonies. Like "weather towers" lol wtf.

3. Timeline: sometime probably after Endless Waltz. Wufei is involved in Preventers as a permanent job, whereas Trowa, Heero and Duo come in off and on. Quatre I assumed would be too busy, poor guy.

4. I sort of know where this is going (but it is going somewhere, promise!). Sue me. It's been awhile since I wrote a non-oneshot.

Serria


	2. Acting

**The Grand Cessation  
**

**Disclaimer:** Still working on buying rights to Gundam Wing, they're still telling me to go write fanfiction and leave them the hell alone. Oh.

* * *

**Chapter 2: ACTING**

* * *

_4-15-AC190: Dear Journal, _

_Uncle has been busy at meetings all day, and he leaves tomorrow morning. Father enjoys his company too but I feel that he is upset. He has been in a bad mood. He is always in a bad mood though. They got really heated talking about the assassination of Heero Yuy. Some of my sisters talked with them, but I don't care too much. I guess it's sad but I thought that happened a long time ago. And also I don't think that Father nor Uncle knew him in person, so what's the big deal? Father didn't care as much when Fakhriyah caught moon flu and died. I guess I didn't care much either because I didn't really know her but she was my sister. But what does Father care? I suppose he can just make a new Fakhriyah anyway. Uncle did say that he would play Battle Simulator with me tomorrow morning, if I wake up early. I set an alarm clock - is four too early? _

* * *

There was something about the Earth that Heero couldn't get used to. It was foreign, and adjusting to the weather and smells and sounds and, more than anything, the elaborate transitions from day to night was a task of its own. Not that Heero minded. It was these differences that kept him from going out into space again. It wasn't home, but he didn't have a home anyway. The changes from the space colonies were welcome. After all of the fighting was done, Heero had time to do something that during the Eve Wars he had avoided - think, and Earth was helping him do it. He never thought that he would enjoy having time to mope and think about what he had done and what he wanted to do. As a perfect soldier he knew that orders and missions came first, and questions later after that. Did he feel regrets? No... yes. Yes, there were people that he had killed that he wished to a god he didn't believe in that he had not killed. Yes, he had made mistakes, and yes, if he were to do it all over again he would have done it differently. But no - he stood behind Relena now. Relena was his salvation. She was working to make everything better, and he would do everything that he could to keep her strong. Because he stood by her he could forgive his mistakes, at least, a little. He could envision that little girl who had died in an accident caused by his stupidity, and he could look at her in the face without hating himself. 

There was something about sunlight, anyway, that made the world a helluva lot more tolerable.

Heero walked down the streets of London without anywhere really to go. His legs moved straight and efficiently, as he was not used to dawdling. But his self given mission of playing bodyguard to Relena after her meeting wouldn't start for another hour and a half. The Earth-Space Alliance was meeting with various colony representatives, as well as presidents of various Earth countries. Actually, Quatre was there too, to serve as WEO's symbol.

He wanted to talk to Quatre, but he did not know about what. He didn't know what to talk about with any of his ex comrades, the Gundam pilots. Without a mission, what was there to say? Just like now, as he wandered London's age old streets, where was he going? In uncertainty, he had stopped carrying his vid-phone around with him anymore. He listened to the messages that Duo left, and occasionally Wufei if the Preventers needed his help. When Quatre had a free two minutes (which was uncommon) he would also call. Trowa never did, but with a half smile, Heero knew that Trowa was more or less like him.

Heero walked passed street performers and merchants. It seemed like no matter how modern that city became, there would always be a hint of medieval aura. Even remnants of old castles and statues still stood. People scattered in the crowds, walking along as aimlessly as he was. There were a few cars, but really only for the rich and elite. The poor had taken a toll from paying taxes that funded the war and weapon research and construction. But they all seemed happy while enjoying the sunshine and fall breeze. It seemed to be those rich and elite that were constantly worrying about keeping society stable.

Heero found himself back at the large, white pillared capital building, a memory of Greek architecture. On the marble stairs sat a figure that Heero knew well. For a moment he thought that there must be some sort of god out there with a twisted sense of humour, creating the irony of his previous thoughts to match who sat there with his head in his hands and eyes downcast. "Quatre!"

Quatre looked up from his broodings. Even as the boy sat slouched over on the marble staircase that cut through rose bushes, he still looked like a prince. He certainly looked professional in his dark business suit and light pastel dress shirt. He looked clean - by instinct, Heero studied his face and arms for some kind of injury, a cut or a scrape or a bruise, that was evidence that this handsome young boy was a battle hardened warrior. Of course, there was nothing. Quatre looked like he had spent his years pampered and healthy. Even his normally wispy blonde hair was neatly combed. Quatre laid his eyes on Heero, putting on a face of pleasant surprise. "Oh, Heero! You _are_ here, Relena said that you might be."

"Yeah." Heero paused awkwardly, unsure of how to direct the conversation. "The meeting isn't over already, is it?"

"No, not at all. In fact it'll probably go late." Quatre sighed heavily. "Some of the representatives on the Interspace Council want Earth taxes to be raised again, and two percent sent over to help with colony repairs. Then the Earth Council argues that it was the _Colonies_ who wanted to be treated as separate federation, and because the fighting and damage was mutual all war debts should be canceled. And then, some representatives are hounding Relena about the Preventers' Institution, trying to get her to say that it goes against the new constitution of total pacifism. Oh, and then the matter of trade! Most of the colonies want a more free market economy, which might benefit them, but too many of them are just rentier states - they _maybe_ have a single resource from nearby satellites to contribute. Many of them rely on manufacturing, not gathering anyway..."

Heero smirked. "I don't care, Quatre." Inwardly he was thinking about his earlier theory that the rich are never happy. Not even the innocently optimistic Quatre seemed too happy.

Quatre smiled back, tiredly. "Anyway, I had to excuse myself for few minutes. ... Headache."

"Take aspirin?" Heero half sat, half leaned against the stone railing that separated the great stairway in half. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

Quatre gave a small smile, running a hand through this platinum blonde mess of hair. He didn't quite respond to that statement. "I've had a lot on my mind. Speaking of which!" He sat up more upright, frowning. "Did Wufei get a hold of you?"

"I haven't checked my phone in three days." Heero replied with a shrug. "Why?"

There was a voice from the dark hallway up ahead. "Mr. Winner, sir! Could we have you back? There's this matter..."

The blonde boy turned toward the voice, sighing again. "I'm on my way, Miss Edmunds." He stood, turning back toward Heero. "It might be in your interest to call. Actually, it _will_-" Quatre cut off, and his face had changed. He stared at Heero, but Heero could see that his eyes were elsewhere. They were cloudy and fogged - his pupils shrinked with the image of shock and fright. His mouth was slightly agape, and his normally light face had gone completely white.

"Quatre!" Heero hissed. That goddamn empathy of his! "Quatre, what's going on?"

Quatre didn't answer. He was trembling.

Without a second thought, Heero lifted a hand and slapped his friend across the cheek with a force that made the other stumble. As he fell, Heero caught Quatre's arm to keep him up. "Quatre, snap out of it!"

The Arabian boy blinked, and his eyes were back to normal. He turned away from Heero, his hands covering his face as he regained himself. "Dear Allah," he said softly. He glanced Heero's way apologetically, as if his sudden empathetic vision had been an offense. "Sorry... Trowa, he, I felt, I... I think something happened!"

Heero clenched his jaw, watching his friend and thinking. "You get back to the meeting. If Relena gets out, and I'm not here..."

"I'll keep an eye out for her. I'll invite her to tea," Quatre answered helpfully, still looking as though he were trying to make up for some mistake he had made earlier.

Heero turned and started walking down the stairs. Briefly he stopped, and without turning his head, he said, "Concentrate on your work. No one is asking you to be a politician and a soldier." With that, he walked at a fast pace with a destination this time. He found himself regretting two things - one, that he didn't have the words to comfort the sensitive Quatre, and two, that he would not get to see Relena for a little while longer. It was only then, with a start, that he realized calling Wufei and Quatre's vision could only mean one thing - he was going to fight again. He thought he should be angry, but he knew that he wasn't. He was indifferent.

And then he felt a surge of hatred toward himself. After all that Relena had taught him, after he gave his entire being to find peace - he was still just a soldier after all.

* * *

Trowa was sorry to leave the circus yet again - yes, Catherine had made _sure_ that he was sorry. With angry tears in her eyes she had cussed and yelled, telling her honorary brother that there was _peace_ now and he should just fucking get over it already. Trowa hadn't known quite how to respond. Yes, there was peace... and he wanted to keep it that way, he had said. He had told her that he wanted to protect what he had once fought to achieve, and that he wanted to protect her. At that rare sentimentality, Catherine had quieted and packed him a lunch as he left for the space port. But Trowa wondered if the words weren't just coming out automatically. He did not feel at home in the quiet colony 3-21C. He felt like a convict. No, he felted like he was just acting like he had so often when he spied as a Gundam pilot. Heavyarms had been a nice home, though it was stolen, just like his name. Fighting was a comfort because it was what he did, ever since he was a young boy. He had jumped at the chance to accept Wufei's request to check out the Ann 18 and the Mars satellite Ereshkigal 2. 

He wondered vaugely as he rode the small shuttle out to the decided coordinates if he had brought so many guns because he wanted there to be a firefight. _"You want to die, Trowa?"_ Catherine had once asked him with a sad look on her face. No, no, he didn't want to die. He wanted to feel _alive_, and walking behind Lady Death was the only way he could feel that way. Without that reminder he was just a nobody. A no-name.

Not that things weren't changing now, he thought solemnly along his long, dark space journey. He had found life in other things, too, other things that made him feel human. Catherine really was one of those things. Other people that he had met - Quatre, Heero, the rest - they understood him and in a way they were all like him. It was a comforting feeling to have comrades like that. But changes were gradual and it would be much longer before he could look a stranger in the face and not calculate his chances in a fist fight.

"Five minutes to destination," the computerized voice said through the scratchy speakers by the monitor. It didn't matter too much to Trowa how outdated the shuttle he had stolen was. After all, he was used to using whatever he got. Still, during most of his recent missions, and of course the war, he had used the best that the Milky Way had to offer. Well, it would serve its purpose.

Trowa gave a last minute check on his weaponry and communication devices. It was a fair ways away from the New York headquarters, so he knew that his signal with Wufei and Une would be slow. Grenades, check. Sniper laser for space shooting, check. Handguns and bullets, check. Spare oxygen tank, check.

"Unknown private space vehicle at approximately 4.5 kilometers from destination coordinates," the computer voice said after another minute. "Open communicator device?"

"Negative," Trowa said calmly. He then rechecked the program installed into the computer system of the little shuttle he was driving, the program that masked its own signal to decrease chance of detection. The useful trick had been perfected by Duo's Deathscythe Gundam, and before its self-destruction Trowa had picked it up and kept it clean on disk for personal use. Affirmative, the program was in check and appeared to be working just fine. Hopefully the mysterious ships on Comet Ereshkigal 2 didn't have any technology that would battle his firewalls.

The shuttle had reached the comet's atmosphere, and things got loud. The roar of the shuttle slowly attempting to battle gravity and maintain a speed that would not lead to a crash landing made Trowa clench his teeth. At 4.5 kilometers away, and with some luck the enemy - Trowa by default thought of the unknown visitors as enemies - couldn't hear the obnoxious noise.

When he had landed, he tightened the helmet on his space suit. By habit he double checked his oxygen tank right as the door of the shuttle hummed open. Before he left the floor of the shuttle's entrance chamber (the inner door behind him was sealed tight, so as to protect the oxygen) he took in his surroundings. Being where he had landed on Ereshkigal 2, he was facing the sun and had considerable light. He had already calculated the spin of the rock though, and according to his results day and night was just ten hours long. His arrival ensured him at least two more hours of light. That meant he had to be fast.

Trowa began to walk. He had initially planned on bringing the transportation vehicle from the shuttle (a small go-cart like thing with three wheels) but had decided against it when he felt how weak the gravity was. Besides, the noise that the thing made was enough to give him away from a good distance. He had not calculated how easily sound would travel in the gases of this comet, but it wasn't a chance worth taking.

He had been treading for half and hour when he saw _it_. The building stood up from the ground like a mansion in the desert. Smaller buildings were scattered in front of the tall one. Then there was a tribute to technology - at the corners of the square area were large poles, each which supported a sheet of pale, see-through green mananium. The sheets surrounded the area at all sides and above it. At front of the force field was a metal entry room. This meant that the entire area inside probably had a human supporting atmosphere, and probably artificial gravity as well.

This was further confirmed as he arrived closer and he saw people walking around the inside. Trowa paused in his path, going behind a large rock that separated his eyesight from the facility, and hopefully vise versa too. He crouched down, thoroughly surprised. Wufei hadn't said anything about an entire facility in that area. Wufei had simply had suspicions that perhaps something criminal was going on at Ereshkigal 2 after the mysterious satellite explosion (and if so, he had said, probably just a drug ring). This entire institution, complete with living conditions, was _not_ what the Shenlong pilot had lead him to believe. It wasn't really like Wufei either to not tell him everything that he needed to know for a mission - that was more something that Heero might do.

Trowa peeked out from the shelter of the rock, gazing at the fortress. Maybe something could be concluded here: for certain, whoever owned this facility was the one who had Ann 18 demolished. Why? Because what was going on here was obviously not something that the Earth-Space Alliance would approve of, fair and simple, or else it would be licensed and in the records. Now the pilot just had to figure out _what_.

He had no way of sneaking in through the mananium borders, so the best plan seemed to be to pretend that he was one of them. It might prove difficult, being as he hadn't the faintest idea what was going on. But the mission was set and he had accepted, everything else was really beside the point.

The first thing he did was take out his vid communicator and turn the camera to the fortress. "I've arrived at Ereshkigal 2," he spoke into the microphone without showing any evidence of his earlier surprise. "This is what I've found. The motives behind this place are unclear, so I am going in." He switched off the small device's recorder and sent the message. It would take a few hours at least to reach Commander Une's ears. He then took a deep breath in his oxygen mask and weighed out the options. If something were to go wrong his escape was a long walk away. This just meant it all had to go right.

He walked toward the door of the area calmly. He was sure that video cameras must have picked up his presence, and was more sure with every step that he took. But there was no sound of alarm and and no weapons drawn and pointed his way. He was just a hundred feet away from the place now, and nothing was happening. In a way it was unnerving, and his heart beat rapidly as he waited for some kind of trigger to snap. Nothing.

Then he was at the entrance chamber. He pressed the green button that signaled the heavy doors to open into the transfer chamber. He had expected some voice over to make him state his identification, but the door just slid open without complaint. He entered the chamber and heard the gushing of oxygen enter after the door sealed tight behind him. A moment later he was inside the complex.

The fortress was somewhere between a colony and the Earth - it had many artifical features, the gravity being one of them, but the light and ground were real enough. Granted, the ground he stood on was just flattened, dry, reddish-brown rock void of all life (with the exception of the mysterious people scurrying on top). He looked up from his feet to see the huge building that was a good ten stories high and nearly touching the top of the clear mananium ceiling. There were six smaller buildings in front of him.

So as not to look suspicious, he removed his space helmet. With relief he saw that he fit in as much as he could hope, save perhaps his younger age. The adults that stood inside the yard or walked from building to building were mostly wearing sleek space suits. _They must travel in and out of the area often. Out of convenience they probably nixed the security on the transfer chamber._ In fact, he didn't see much security at all, except a couple guards who stood chatting in the corner.

Trowa wandered, always walking intently to give off the impression of purpose. People were walking about, but the conversations that he overheard gave nothing away.

"I'm tired of sending my wife IOUs," one elderly man was saying to his dark haired female companion. They walked toward the lobby of the main building, obviously in no hurry. "I'm beginning to wonder if the Boss will ever give us the credits he promised."

"Oh, come now," the lady answered in a reasonable tone. "It'll come. After he arranges to sell a couple blocks of these, everyone here will be filthy rich."

"Maybe! But let me tell you, Edna, my Louise is howling like a banshee at me."

At that, the pair had arrived at the doors of the main building. Like the transfer chamber, a click of a green button raised the door obediently. Inside, Trowa noticed several men hauling large dark colored blocks of something into a neatly stacked pile by the door. They worked like ants - out of the elevator, setting down their load, and going up another elevator for more.

Trowa knew that his current position was secure, but he decided to take a chance. He tapped the woman Edna on the shoulder. "Ma'am?" he asked politely.

"Hm?" There was no look of suspicion in the dark haired woman's eyes, only perhaps irritation.

"Am I needed to haul the blocks too?" Trowa hoped that he didn't sound too naive.

"What! I'm not in charge of that!" Edna glanced at the haulers, and then back at the youth. "Doubt it, you look too scrawny to lift 'em. You should probably be down in the mines, you look too young to be a researcher like us. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I was sent to see if help was needed here," he answered without batting an eye.

"Hey, look, the truck is here!" the older man said, pointing outside behind them. A truck was indeed driving through the transfer chamber. It looked more like a well sized semi. "C'mon people, let's get this gundanium loaded!"

It wasn't often that Trowa froze up in surprise during a mission, but he proved it was possible right then. "Gundanium?" he finally spoke as the others began moving the large blocks into the back of the semi.

"Of course the gundanium," the old man snapped. "What did you think, the tables? Get to work!"

Absentmindedly Trowa followed the crowd in lifting the heavy blocks. Sure enough, as he touched them he felt the familiar tingle on his fingers. As he worked, he pieced things together. The mines? This comet must contain the necessary materials to produce gundanium alloy, and they are producing it right here. Muttering something about needing to use a restroom, Trowa excused himself into a corner of the lobby that was desks and potted trees away from the action. Desperately he crouching down behind a pillar and took out his vid phone. When it beeped on, he hushed his hissing voice. "Wufei, Une, it's gundanium alloy! They are mining the necessary elements and manufacturing it in the facility I sent you earlier. They have blocks of it, they're loading it up..." Hurriedly, Trowa lifted the camera portion of the phone and scanned it quickly around the lobby.

And then, suddenly, the intruder alert _did_ go off. A loud beeping sound filled the lobby, and the workers stopped what they were doing, looking around anxiously. A computerized voice said, "_Warning! Warning! Outgoing radio waves detected! Warning! Location not verified!_"

"What the hell?" a few voices sounded.

And _then_ the guards _did_ arrive. Down through an elevator they poured out, fully armed like a government death team with machine guns and bullet proof armour. They raised their weapons, circling around the area. "An unapproved signal was sent! Who was it?" one was yelling.

Trowa stared wide eyed like a deer caught in headlights as eyes slowly turned to him. It wasn't like him to fumble like this. The idea of someone out there making Gundams had stirred him into doing something as utterly stupid as sending a vid signal out to New York _in a mananium enclosure_! His brain quickly switched back on though, as he attempted to play his surprise to his advantage. "Oh my god!" he said in a voice like Catherine's. "I was texting my girl friend! I'm so sorry, I forgot that the Boss said that sending out waves was against the rules!"

Several of the scientists sighed and shook their heads, going back to their work. But the guards approached him. One tall man with red hair eyed his coolly. "Who are you, kid?"

_A good question._ "I'm Quatre Bloom," he answered, fully realizing that the identity wasn't too creative. "I'm from the L3 cluster, and I came here to help manufacture gundanium alloy."

The red haired guard pulled Trowa to his feet. Rough hands began to feel his shirt and pants - at that point Trowa knew the act was over. "The fucker's got artillery!" the guard shouted upon feeling one or more of Trowa's guns.

Trowa kicked back the hands and cart-wheeled backwards away from the grasps of guards. He pulled out his own hand gun and landed in a crouched position to point it, only to realize that there were a good fifteen pointed at _him_.

"You've got one chance to surrender!" the man who seemed to be the leader commanded.

Trowa gave this a second of honest thought. Surrendering did mean a slim chance of escaping - slim meaning that he would find a way to do it. But maybe, just _maybe_ he could shoot through this lot, make his way through the scientists and run like a bat out of hell to the shuttle. Maybe he could make it out. If he was successful, it would save him god knows how many precious days to get to Une and discuss what the fuck they were supposed to do now. If he were in Heavyarms, it would be nothing.

_But you aren't a Gundam, Trowa. You're just a human..._

_Do you want to die, Trowa? _He could almost see Catherine's face, and he felt regret. What would he do now?

"What is going on here?!" a new, ragged, deep voice shouted.

The guards parted to let a man through that sparked a fuzzy memory in Trowa's brain. It was a tall, heavily muscled man with dark hair and the erect stance of a military officer. A stance he ought to have - he used to be one. "General Septum," Trowa said calmly and out loud. He pointed the gun right at the officer's chest. "Sources state that you are dead."

"So you know me?" he shouted in his heavy, dripping accent. "I know who you are! A Preventer! That means you work under that _bitch_ who thought she killed me!"

"So you're behind all of this." Trowa said coolly, meaning to get as much information out of the enemy before the next act opened.

"I'm just here to fucking ensure that her favour is returned!" With that statement, Septum charged at Trowa. Trowa immediately fired his handgun into the heart of the large man - only to hear a painful _clink_ of metal upon metal. The bastard was wearing a bulletproof vest under his green coat. Septum's face was wild and almost animal as he stood in front of Trowa. _This bastard lost it, hasn't he?_

By shooting the chest and not the head, Trowa had made yet another blunder, and recieved a heavy punch in the face by the ex-General as worthy punishment. Despite how well trained the acrobatic warrior was, the crashing fist of the beast of a military man sent him to the ground. But on the ground, Trowa snatched the opportunity to shoot an armed guard through the gap between the general's stocky legs. This time he aimed for the head. _BANG! _The guard fell, and Trowa shot again._ BANG!_

Then Septum kicked him with a steel boot in the ribs. Trowa ignored the cracking sound in his chest and continued to fire..Aim, click, _BANG!_ ...Someone was stepping on hand that held the gun... Aim, click, _BANG!_ ...and then there were gunshots aimed at _him_... _BANG!_... there was a searing pain.. _BANG!_ ...something warm trickled down his back... _BANG!_

...there was blood... _BANG! BANG!_

...and then there was a gentle whiteness. Trowa faded out of consciousness, and his last coherent thought was disappointment that the tactical genius Quatre hadn't been there to tell him what to do.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED . . .**

**Author's Notes:**

1. Mananium: okay, so I made up an element. XD If chemistry didn't want me to make crap up, then it should've given me an existing element that IS SUPAH HARD AND SEE THROUGH AND OMG CAN SENSE RADIO WAVES!!!1111

2. RelenaxHeero??: Not really. I'm actually not currently aiming for any pairing (at least, not as a focus for this story yet). I'm just trying to write the characters true to their TV show personalities and how they interact with eachother. Hopefully I'm not screwing up too painfully.

3. General Septum: um, I don't know why I brought him back. I mostly thought it'd be funny to have someone wanting to kill that psycho Une. And he's kind of psycho too. Oh, and _of course_ he survived that fall and gunshot to the head. Duh, I do that all the time.

4. Quatre empathy fic! I know, right?!

5. Is Trowa dead...? WHY SHOULD I TELL YOU.

Thanks for reading, guys. :-)

-Serria


	3. Needed

**Disclaimer:** If I was Quatre and owned freakin' multi-gazillion dollar Winner Enterprises, I'd SO buy the rights to Gundam Wing. ...as it is I am not Quatre.. so, um... well... don't make me say it... Idon'townGWyet._  
_

* * *

**CHAPTER 3: NEEDED**

* * *

_1-15-AC192: Dear Journal, _

_Haifa, the third sister closest to my age, has been missing for three days. A'mal had to alert the authorities because Father is down on Earth, and he left her in charge. Haifa is my friend. She looks a lot like me - A'mal told me that this is because when we were created, genetics from the same woman were used. This just makes me resent Father more than ever, that Haifa and I had our genes selected by some cow that proved worthy twice. I hate him for not coming back here immediately to help look for Haifa. I made my sister Imtithal teach me all the swearing words, so now I can write just this: fuck you, Father. Fuck you._

* * *

Chang Wufei was not going to pretend that the warrior in him had died. Rather, after the Eve War, he had committed himself to becoming even stronger. Sally had found him a purpose in the Preventers Institution and he meant to use that outlet to his full potential. Commander Une had once suggested that he take a break from fighting, like all of the other pilots. But Wufei wasn't going to beat around the bush any longer. He wanted honesty. And he wasn't going to pretend that he didn't feel the most alive when he was closest to death, like the others were trying to do. Duo was job hopping, trying to keep himself interested enough in normal life to distract himself. Heero was playing bodyguard, trying to convince himself that he was trying to protect Relena and not that he was waiting for the chance to shoot an assassin. Trowa busied himself with a _circus_ of all things, as if he were trying to relive a childhood fantasy that the gods had never let him live before. And Quatre? Wufei figured that Quatre spoke for himself. That one didn't allow himself the _time_ to think about fighting. 

What set Wufei apart from the others though was that he had _had_ a life before the war that involved training and fighting. Heero, Trowa and Duo were just nobodies without real families, and Quatre lived a life of pacifism. He didn't want to be an actor, like they were. He couldn't help but smirk as he thought about them - they said that they were done fighting, but then they would never fail to accept any mission that he threw at them. Wufei chose to admit to what he was and embrace it. He had things to fight for. He had Meilan, the woman who was his Nataku, to honor.

"Mr. Chang, I'm inclined to deny your request to go to the Station Artemis," Commander Une was saying. Wufei had told her of his plans on leaving in her large office at New York Headquarters. She stood up from her large black office chair and pressed her hands against the wooden desk in front of her. She wore a military suit of dark blue, and her brown hair was down and straightened. Wufei did have a naturally tendency to prefer women to stay back on the sidelines - if Meilan had, she might still be alive - but he knew that Une didn't need to be protected by _anybody_. He had respected her when she was an enemy, and respected her more as the Commander of the Preventers. She looked at the youth in front of her with firm, narrowed eyes. "Trowa's already in that area, and Duo is on his way. You aren't needed."

"We haven't heard from Trowa in awhile, and the way the last message ended with that alarm, I don't think we will anytime soon," Wufei said. He wasn't arguing. If he did decide to go, he was simply going to go whether Une liked it or not, and she knew it. "And I doubt Maxwell's ability to take care of any research facility without backup. You haven't forgotten, commander, that it could be _gundanium alloy_, hell, Gundam suits themselves that we are preventing?"

"You don't think strategically," Une reprimanded, unperplexed. "You shuttling out there will be a two day trip at its fastest. If this really is a wide scale conspiracy - and if so I'm surprised, because we've come up with no evidence previous to this - then we do need to ensure that we have experienced Preventers in all areas. This sounds more to me like bad luck. Some bastards found means to make gundanium alloy. But Wufei, what can they do about it?"

Wufei glared. "How do you mean?"

"I _mean_, it takes more than a concoction of metals to make a weapon. It requires skill and knowledge. As far as I know, there were five scientists in all of the Milky Way that knew how to make a Gundam - and they're dead. So if these bumbling idiots think that they can make Gundams, they'll need researchers. To get the necessary equipment and bribe the most intelligent weapon designers, _especially_ under the noses of the Earth-Space Alliance, they would need an insane budget. I'm not sure that even our dainty princess Relena could afford such a thing." Une turned thoughtfully to the huge window behind her, which was leaking autumn sunlight. Below, the streets were littered with cars and people. Gingerly she placed a hand on the glass, looking out. "I'd like to think that we can trust people now, but I'm no fool, Mr. Chang. I do believe that you are right and that we absolutely cannot leave the situation at Ereshkigal 2 be. But I also believe that if you leave, something worse could happen here on Earth with all of the political conferences going on this month."

The Chinese pilot was less concerned with a situation that hadn't happened than with than the situation that had. "You're ignoring the point!" he said angrily. "I don't want some fat rich parasites having Gundams when I blew up _mine_!"

Commander Une lowered her chin, watching Wufei with intensely judgmental brown eyes. She prodded him to finish his rant with an ever so slight "Oh?"

"It pisses me off that evil even _thinks_ about touching gundanium!" Wufei stopped when he saw how Une was looking at him. He sneered at her. "And Trowa, what do we do about him? Are you suggesting we leave him there for _Duo_ to save?"

Commander Une was smirking, but her eyes were humourless. "What, is the great Dragon actually going to take responsibility for sending a comrade into enemy territory? Are you worried that they might be hurting poor Trowa? They might be killing him?"

"Fuck you," Wufei spat out before he could stop himself. Once this curse was out he found that he didn't really feel bad anyway. "If he's been captured, the rule is the same as when we were Gundam pilots. He'll have to either escape or kill himself, and soon. I don't want him leaking information about Headquarters."

The tall woman's face changed into a look of pure seriousness. "Maybe so. But Mr. Chang, we do not know for sure if-"

_Brrrrring! Brrrrrring!_ The phone on Une's desk rang. For a second she did not answer, and she and Wufei just glared at eachother. Finally, she pressed the phone's button that put the call on speaker phone. "This is Preventers' Headquarters," she said.

"Where's Wufei?" a low, monotone young voice answered.

"I'm here," Wufei said loudly so that his voice would catch through the speakers. "Heero."

"I'm in London," Heero said with the same tone that he used to use when explaining a mission. "I just talked with Quatre. What is going on?"

Lady Une cut in, as though to show her dominance in position over Wufei. "So far, the satellite Ann 18 has been blown up by an unknown party, who we believe are currently stationed at comet Ereshkigal 2 where they are mining and manufacturing Gundanium alloy."

"Hmm." Heero did not let any surprise leak into his voice. Wufei respected that.

"This is according to Trowa," Une continued. "Who set foot on the comet himself and saw the facility with his own eyes. Unfortunetly we haven't received any messages from him in too long."

"That explains it then. Quatre sensed that something was wrong about him." Again, Heero sounded unconcerned. "Give me the coordinates."

Une shrugged and did so. Wufei slammed his hand down on her desk, about to protest, but Une gave a toss of her head and a look that told him to be silent.

Wufei broke in. "Wait, Heero. Just go to the Station Artemis and wait there for Duo!"

The commander shrugged, appearing to accept this as a worthy idea. "Yes. Contact us when you get there, before you go in to Ereshkigal. Artemis should have a mobile suit or two left as well as hand weapons for you. ...You'll need the weapons. I know I don't need to tell you this, Yuy, but if something did happen to Trowa, and they _did_ realize that he was a Preventer-"

"You're right, you don't need to tell me this," Heero interrupted coolly. "There will be high security. I'll send you my shuttle's link as soon as I get out of orbit, and you can send me the exact information that Trowa left you with."

"Hold on!" Wufei said quickly, as to catch the other before he left. Wufei gave Une one last fiery stare, and he said, "Sally and I are going, too. We'll meet you at Artemis as well."

"Fine." There was the zipping sound of the call transmission ending; Heero had hung up.

Commander Une was snarling. "You little fool! I do _not_ support-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard you. Sally is going out there though, she's the best soldier medic that we have. With high security, there will be injury."

"You know I'm not talking about Sally!" Lady Une was looking as dark and angry as when she had been Treize's sadistic Colonel Une. "_I need you here, soldier_!" The remnants of her former half were extremely clear in her face as she shouted with venom dripping in her voice.

The Shenlong pilot did pause. He couldn't help it. Une was intimidating when she wanted to be, and that's what had kept Wufei working under her for so long. If the Preventers' Commander had been Sally or Noin, he honestly would probably be only working for them if they needed a favour and asked nicely. But then again, he had always hated to be told what to do. "Fuck you, Lady. You know, if Ereshkigal is birthing Gundams, I'm goddamn half tempted to get one for myself."

With that, Wufei stormed off. He knew what he had said. His memory of putting the Nataku to rest had not even begun to fade from his memory, and here he wanted to resurrect it again. It was pitiful, at best. A year ago he had let her go on the grounds of wanting to become a new and stronger person. The feels had quieted for a few weeks, but slowly crept back in. He craved the massive firepower that he once had and he craved what it stood for. He was still a blood stained soldier. He was above pretending otherwise.

* * *

It was 5:21 PM. The white walled and cherry wood panneled room was a grand one with a large square table in which the political influences sat around. Each cushioned seat sat behind a microphone device, a notepad and pen, and a glass of water which waiters would refill at determined time intervals. The meeting had been going on for more than an hour longer than initially planned, and the representatives showed no sign of wanting to stop. Many were sweating or flushed, holding clenched fists as they argued as civilly as they could about transportation rates and tariff prices. The L5 Prime Minister, Thomas Long, looked about ready to burst. 

"Honorable ladies and gentlemen!" he was saying in a voice that was both booming and squeaky. The man looked rather like a toad with dry skin, fat cheeks and bulgy eyes, and for some reason his voice seemed fitting. "I have no doubt, no doubt at all that New Africa means no insult by choosing to raise their import tax, but the people of L5 will _not_, no, _can_ not continue to do business under these conditions! As you know, Mr. Trent, L5 has in the past been a huge supporter of your country's small businesses, but..."

The man went on, and Quatre found himself resting his head heavily on his hands as he gazed aimlessly across the table. Yes, he had been born and bred for this sort of thing. He understood what every single narrow minded representative was saying, he just did not see _why_ they were saying it. It wasn't that he was against these meetings and the concept of working things out through words as opposed to guns - quite the contrary, painful as they were at times. But too many of these people were just trying to be oppositional. It seemed like the minority was actually trying to cooperate and compromise.

_Sigh._ Across the table, Relena caught his eye and gave him a wink. They had tried to get seats by eachother when they had both arrived (exactly fifteen minutes early), only to find seating already arranged - country to colony. Because Quatre was technically a colony representative, whereas she was from the Earth, they were placed at opposite sides of the table. When Relena had entered, she looked lovely in her pink business suit and ribbons in her hair. But now she seemed as in need of a cool bath as everyone else. She looked almost as cramped and bored as he did, but she was actually making an effort to keep a small doll-like smile plastered on her face. Occasionally she would cut in and make suggestions, but since the current topic of conversation was business she had kept more quiet. As well she ought to, he supposed. She didn't know much, if anything about economics. He did (how could he not, growing up in the family that owned WEO?), but he was afraid that if he said something he would start screaming.

As he twirled his pen in his fingers with a little sigh, the youth wondered if maybe had just grown more impatient as of late. This meet was after all, he reminded himself firmly, a start. When they got over their old OZ days hate, they would make an effort to live in this world together. He had faith that they would change, and he knew that it would take time. Right now, though, he could _feel_ surging dark emotions present, hanging like an aura in the grand capital hall. Not for the first time he wished that he didn't have his peculiar empathy abilities. He could see with his own eyes how angry the politicians were without the Spaceheart. Bitterly, he connected this thought to how he also could see with his own two eyes (even now he could still see them) all the people that he had killed in the war without needing to feel their final moments of pain and desperation, too.

_Oh Allah, oh gods._ Quatre sat upright again as he remembered the most recent upleasantry that his empathy had presented with. He _had_ felt Trowa Barton like a ghost inside of him, and he had felt an eruption of pain. It had only been for a second - Heero made sure of that - but it was there. The meeting had been going on so long that his talk with Heero felt like days ago, not two and a half hours. Then there was the gundanium alloy that Wufei had told him about. Quatre was a proud pacifist, and no one could have been happier than he to achieve peace... then why did he wish he could throw WEO aside and go off to Ereshkigal with the others? Was it to make sure that Trowa was alright? Or was it to feel the cool tingle in his hands when he held a gun?

"Mr. Winner?" someone was saying.

Forcing out a small cough that bought him time, Quatre's eyes darted around the table to see who was addressing him. He locked gazes with the British Prime Minister, Ms. Agatha Tudor. "My apologies, Ms. Tudor..."

Ms. Tudor was relatively young for a PM at a ripe fifty two years of age, and she looked even a little younger. Her hair was as gray as her suit, but her cool blue eyes told everyone that not only was she not yet a grandmother but also not to be trifled with. Even so, she gave Quatre a slightly sympathetic look, probably due to his _much_ younger age, and repeated the question. "Northern Europe was wondering where WEO stands on giving out loans to Earth countries who are still repairing war damages. We know that you've been very generous to the colonies, and reparations are a heavy cost..."

"It is officially my sister, A'mal Saabira Winner, who is signing off those loans, as I don't yet have the legal authority to give away such a large sum of credits until I am twenty-one," Quatre said in his most professional and matter-of-fact tone. "A'mal and I did however discuss this particular matter quite extensively the last time we met. I admit that we have had minor disagreements, but our official stance is that we will not favour any colony above state nor cluster above country. WEO is not a political organization, even if we have strong political views."

"Funny to hear that, Mr. Winner, and knowing how your father, may his soul rest in peace, died. I think he proved which side of the Milky Way he favored more!" The taunt came from the old Western Asia president, Todd McHall. He had a smile on his face as though he were making a kind, or at least unoffensive remark, but his eyes danced with malice.

Quatre paused for a moment. His hands were crunched into dangerously tight fists at the table, and he knew that his cheeks were burning. His brain raced with the things that he _wanted_ to say: _don't you ever, ever, EVER talk about my father or use him as a political tool, you bastard! You never knew him, you worm, how dare you! _

It was Relena who stood up and pressed her microphone after glancing anxiously at her friend. "Mr. President McHall, I am shocked at your poor tact! If you must make inappropriate snide remarks about the personal lives and emotional losses of other honorary representatives present, I ask that you do it _after_ the meeting when you are not representing West Asia!" Relena had become a figure of morality. Her outburst had won her smiles from some and embarressed glances from others.

"It's quite alright, Senator Darlian," Quatre forced himself to say as he calmed his breathing. "I will not take Mr. McHall's remark into the business considerations of WEO and West Asia nor to pass judgement on its honorable people." McHall quieted at that, probably well aware that anything he said would just make him look worse. "Back to what I was initially saying, A'mal and I are not taking sides. Obviously, as said before, we do not represent a political organization but a business. Though we have been stationed mainly on L4 ever since my ancestors financed its building - down from Earth, where WEO was born, might I add - we are involved in contracts everywhere. If politics do affect our views, it is simply to say that we are pacifists and simply want to work together with every institution to create a stronger, safer Alliance." Now it was Quatre who earned smiles. Relena was beaming.

Ms. Tudor spoke again. "Admirable, Mr. Winner. But you did not quite answer our question. Will you give out loans to any political grounds that ask for it?"

"Right, my apologies." Now came for the part that Quatre knew would make people groan. "Money isn't a concern for WEO, all modesty aside. And we _do_ want to see the Milky Way rebuilt. But unlike with politics, in business we cannot set a single standard for all. A'mal and I will personally review each institution's plan on how they will spend our money, and we will decide if the money is being put to good use. We will not finance any militia, for one thing. Anything that is potentially harmful or irrelevant to the prosperity of the Earth-Space Alliance will be denied."

After that, there were indeed a few annoyed remarks about the elitism and corruption of businesses, but Quatre held firm. A few other large business leaders, such as Antonio Zapata of the Labor Foundation defended Quatre's position, reminding the thick headed crowd again that private institutions had no obligation to make favours.

When the meeting was finally adjourned for the day, there wasn't a single person who did not give a heavy sigh of relief as they stood up. There was the sound of stretching and the cracking of necks and backs, the traditional post-meeting small talk, and then people filed out of the room to use the restroom and get the crap out. After all, on Tuesday they would be back again, and then again on Thursday.

Quatre and Relena immediately found one another and exchanged tired, exasperated smiles. At seventeen years of age, they were both definitely the youngest people at the meeting, and the elders had not paid that fact any heed nor mercy. "Glad that's over, at least for now," Quatre remarked to her as they waited for the door to clear into the lobby.

"I agree wholeheartedly!" she answered, taking a deep breath. "I so very much wish that I knew more than I do about politics and economy. I am trying to learn."

"And you're doing great!" Quatre said with honest cheer. "You have the utmost respect from everyone. Even the politicians that disapprove of you know that they can't outwardly say it, at least not loudly, or people won't vote for them."

"It's quite the image to live up to, though," she said a little sadly. "I stand for what I truly believe, but I'm not perfect. I'm half afraid that I'm going to mess up and disappoint everyone. Oh, but how those damned people were acting! Like animals! And then other parts were dreadfully boring."

"You'll have to get used to it." Quatre related to Relena's insecurities all too well. He had been working hard to toughen up, but every disapproving word toward him still felt like a slap in the face. It didn't help that various extremists often spoke out against him for one reason or another - _Mr. Winner is too young and inexperienced. Mr. Winner is too biased toward his political views._ Or the worst of all from the far right religious zealots, _Mr. Winner admits to being a test tube baby. He was not made in the image of any God, and WEO is the company of sin..._ He certainly dreaded the day that he had to run WEO by himself.

"I will. But Quatre..." Here she lowered her voice and gave a mischievous grin and giggle. "I wish we had been closer to one another so that we could've passed notes, like in school!" Quatre had never "passed a note" in school, because he hadn't gone to an academy. At least, not since a lower gradeschool. He had been privately tutored after that. Even so, he laughed with Relena, if only to ease her tension. Relena then frowned, studying the Arabian with concerned blue eyes. "Quatre, I was worried about you earlier when you excused yourself. I-"

"Mr. Winner, sir!" Quatre's bodyguard Dane Chaser, who had been waiting for him to get done in the lobby, pushed through a crowd to get to the boy. "Meeting's finally done?" Without waiting for an answer to the probably rhetorical question, he continued. "This guy came at four, and he's been waiting. He says that he has a message that he must deliver to you personally. A Mr. Liu?"

The name did not ring a bell. The conference room had cleared, and Relena whispered that she would wait for Quatre in the lobby for further chat. Quatre shrugged to Dane. "Why not? He did wait for a long time."

As the doors closed behind Dane and Relena, Quatre made himself sit again. This time however he pulled his weight up onto the table itself, leaning back slightly and supporting himself with his hands. When the door reopened, a tall man of Asian decent, clad in a dark, wrinkled suit entered. Sunglasses perched on top of the man's styled black hair, and the man's face had a smile that Quatre could not quite interpret. "Hello, Mr... Liu?" Quatre greeted, straining to remember his name.

"That's right, Quatre," Liu approached Quatre, resting an elbow on one of the cushioned chairs. Quatre stiffened a little at the man rudely using his first name. Was this not a formal meeting? Liu looked the boy over up and down before continuing in a cool, smooth voice. "My boss made you out to be younger. But aren't you a handsome young man!"

"Excuse me?" The ex-Gundam pilot narrowed his eyes. Dane certainly would have ensured that this odd man disarmed himself before allowing him to come in alone. Quatre honestly wasn't sure if this man wasn't some assassin. "Who is your boss?"

"Mujahid Raberba Winner. I believe you know him?" When Quatre shrugged, Liu cocked an eyebrow. "He is a member of your family."

"I've met him a few times, but not for several years," Quatre answered honestly. "My family is more like business associates. Oh, I sold Uncle some stocks awhile back, but otherwise I can't say I've heard from him."

"You wouldn't have. Your dearest sister's been keeping him from you."

The look that Mr. Liu gave him was blank, totally blank. But there was a secretive smile in his voice. The vibes that Quatre could feel from his sneering thoughts were almost tangible. He could touch it, taste it, smell it. Quatre knew that something was wrong. Slowly, he spoke. "And does she have just cause for this?"

Liu didn't answer that. He smiled as politely as the politician bastards. Then he said, "I come as a firm reminder on your Uncle's behalf. Blood is thicker than water, and perhaps even the Winner family has a few traditional values."

Quatre laughed. "I don't have time to call the people closest to me, let alone a man I hardly know."

"Then perhaps you'll need to get closer to Mujahid. Consider this your warning. I'm here to-"

_Bad intentions. _**BAM**. Quatre's steel-like fist connected with Liu's face. The man staggered with pained surprise at the unexpected force of the blow. Of course, he probably didn't know that Quatre used to be one of the mysterious Gundam pilots - that was something that couldn't go leaking out into the public. Quatre tightened his hand, his arms quivered, and he punched Liu again in the stomach. The man made a choking sound.

"Urghh.."

Quatre spread his feet, turned, and snapped the man in the head with a sidekick. Then he spun into a roundhouse kick. Liu fell, as did most who dared to underestimate the slim blonde boy. He kneeled down beside the man, and before he knew what he was doing he found that his hands were on Liu's neck, ready for the break. Upon realizing what he was doing, Quatre caught his breath. There were more reasons than one why he didn't want to kill this man now.

Instead he rushed outside of that dreaded conference room and slammed the door behind him. "Dane, let's go," he said quickly. He had no intention of telling his bodyguard what had just happened, why there was a bleeding man unconscious back there. Tonight, Quatre would hack into the security system of the capital building to make sure that the event had been recorded in video cameras. Better to spare the questions that cannot be answered.

* * *

Duo had woken up at the crack of dawn from the old apartment. He scribbled Hilde a little note that he left on the counter - _"I'm off again. See you around, babe."_ It would come as no surprise to a girl who pulled the same stunt time after time again. The boy reflected this with a smile. He was fond of her. He would probably get around to this colony again sometime, anyway. But he couldn't just say that he would be back in a few days. This apartment wasn't his home. Duo had no home. He came, he went. That was that. 

On his way to the space port, where Une had reserved him a nice shuttle, he took a detour to Howard's shack. Ignoring the fact that it was only 5:32 AM, he whistled as he approached the door and rang the bell. He rang in a couple of times, in the beat to the song that was in his head.

To his surprise, the door opened just a minute later. Howard beamed as though he had been awake for hours. _He probably has been_, Duo thought. "Heya, old pal!" he greeted with his best grin. "Care to blow this joint? I'm leaving right now and there's room for two."

"Give me five minutes, boy!" Howard opened his door all the way, motioning to Duo to come inside to wait while he packed.

"Gee, you don't take much convincing, do you?" Duo laughed, making himself at home in Howard's kitchen. He found a mug and some cocoa powder, and set to work with the creation of hot chocolate. "Don't you even care why, you senile ol' deadbeat?"

Howard called out from his bedroom. "Just lookin' out for you, kid! Who's gonna repair your shuttle when you bust it up if I'm not there?"

"How'd you know I was gonna bust it up?" he responded, impressed. He nosed around the kitchen, sniffing for marshmallows and extra sugar. He did not find either but he did find a nearly empty bag of chocolate chips. He poured the remainder straight into his mouth and and flung the bag into the trash can. "Hold it..." Duo peered inside, at first by habit from his street rat days, but when he saw a hand written note he curiously grabbed it.

_Doctor Jotaro, _

_Greetings from Winner Enterprises! We hope you are doing well. We have recently been informed that you retired to L2 not long after you ended your OZ career in weapon development. Until now, you haven't even existed in the Citizen Database! If you would call our private line, we have a business opportunity that we will be of interest-_

Howard grabbed the note out of Duo's hand and crumpled it up again. Back it soared into the trash can. "I'm comin' with you, Duo," Howard said. His tone of voice made sure that even Duo would understand that that was the end of the matter and questions were not to be asked.

The conversation turned to sports, again, and twenty minutes later they were in the space shuttle. Soon enough they would be at the Artemis, and then from there? Someone was gonna die. Duo found himself praying - maybe is was childish but it wasn't for the first time, that the God of Death wasn't going to come for him.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED . . .**

**Author's Notes:**

1. I didn't mean to sound like I was knocking Hilde in this fic. I personally like her, she's just really... spontaneous? I mean she did all of the sudden give up her entire pride and career to join Duo in the series (granted, it is Duo, and with his American sexiness who wouldn't?). So I wanted to show that... well, that and the fact that I don't really have a use for her in this fic right now.

2. Quatre kicks physical and political ass. Speaking of him, for those who didn't catch it yet, this fic is going to be slightly Quatre centered - peculiar, I know, since he doesn't get his own narration until Chapter 3... but I'm still meaning it to focus on all of the pilot boys.

3. If you haven't read Episode Zero GW Manga, then know that Meilan is a real character who was Wufei's wife. Oops. Spoilers.

4. Oh - originally, Rashid of the Maganacs was Quatre's bodyguard. I changed it because realistically, I don't think a band of space pirates would be very accepted as affiliates of the heir to the Winner company. The first name that came into my head was "Dane Cook" which I figured I probably shouldn't use... so he became Dane Chaser. lol

5. I know this is probably a little slow, and I do tend to ramble, but the pace will pick up in the next chapter.

Thanks everyone for reading! I'm always open to constructive criticism by the way, so if you have any I'd love to hear.

-Serria


	4. Pacifist

**Disclaimer:** I'm running a bake sale this weekend to contribute to my "Raise Money so I Can Buy the Rights to Gundam Wing" fund. I make delicious brownies (provided that they're the kind that come in the box and you just add water). Everybody, be there. ...still don't own GW.. _  
_

* * *

**Chapter 4: PACIFISM**_  
_

* * *

_2-12-AC192: Dear Journal, _

_Haifa's dead. It's all over the newspapers. They are calling it a political assassination, or possibly a hate-crime against the test tube born. I guess I wish that I knew who did it but it doesn't change the fact. Tonight they will blast her cremated ashes out into the stars. I wish I could leave with her. I mean, not to the afterlife, whatever that is. I hate WEO and father and the people that hate us. I hate that I was created to be a part of all of this. I want to leave. _

* * *

_I'm still a pacifist,_ Mujahid thought hesitantly. He watched the prisoner that Septum had taken with guilted curiousity. _Or am I just bullshitting myself?_ The young man, or boy rather, was unconscious. Indeed, the boy had been limp while restrained on the bed for days now. He looked like red raw meat with eyes frozen in a cringe and matted brown hair. Mujahid didn't know how long it had taken the spy to faint but he had feelings that Septum had continued to beat him long after. After all, black eyes and sliced lips didn't come from bullets. 

Reasoning with himself, Mujahid insisted inwardly that even a pacifist could be forgiven in the crusade against Preventers. He was showing humanity, right? He didn't have the boy executed on the spot. He had the doctors pump blood back into the now-rag-doll spy. He'd had the bullets removed. Even so, death and torture would have to be a necessary sacrifice for a better world if the potential Preventer refused to talk. The prisoner shackled to the bed was forgiveable under said circumstances.

"Pretty, isn't it!" Septum exclaimed, entering the small white room in the door behind. He held a small digital camera. The towering man stood in front of the bed and began photographing the bloodied creature.

"No," Mujahid said crossly. Ever since he found the ex general wandering around on Earth, he had caught on that not all the lights were on in the black of the man's mind. Unfortunately Septum was too useful to discard now. After all, it was he that won the support of many of the once-Alliance soldiers that now worked for him. The general was trusted, being the right hand man of Noventa himself, and many of the survivors of the OZ invasion were very willing to secretly take up arms again. And it was Septum too that knew about the sixth Gundam designer Howard. Mujahid owed him thanks, even if his accident left his mind behind complete repair. "Dear Allah, what in hell are you doing?" he asked with distaste when he took in what Septum was doing with the camera.

"A present for the bitch who killed me," Septum answered, finishing his morbid task. "A threat that I intend to fulfill!" He started toward the door again.

"She didn't kill you, you aren't dead," Mujahid argued with irritation to deaf ears. Septum just bounded out of the room, a dark smile on his pale lips. The door slammed behind. The Arab sighed loudly. "Fucking madman..."

"You've got skeletons in your closet too, Mr. Winner," a smooth British voice purred. Rose, his godforsaken wife, leaned causually against the wall. She was a tall woman, slim with a head of long pale hair. She was darkly beautiful - at least she was with her heavy dark eye makeup and dark crimson red lipstick. She had taken to wearing blacks and reds - if Mujahid believed in such things he would have been sure that she was a demon herself. She had entered so silently and cat-like that Mujahid near wanted to shoot her for a spy himself.

"Rose," he greeted stiffly.

"One of your dogs is in prison down in London," she smiled. She slid a gloved hand along the side of the wall, considering her husband before she spoke again. "This is why it never pays to send _warnings_. Things tend to... go wrong. Strike like a spider or _you'll_ be beaten. That's why Septum is going to die."

"Pity." Mujahid turned away from her. He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a cigarrette. He lit it and inhaled deeply. He swore as long as his wife was alive he would never be able to kick the habit.

"I have connections right in London though, of course, my love." Rose's voice hummed. "I can call them now and your nephew will be dead in a day."

The Arab didn't turn around. "I don't want him dead, Rose, unless as a last resort."

"You're too soft."

"He is family."

Mujahid could practically feel his wife's smug look. "That didn't matter to you the last time."

"Shh." Again, his eyes drifted toward the beaten prisoner. As if the unconscious boy could hear the conversation! "The pieces are falling into place. We've already manufactured a good twelve tons of Gundanium alloy. The Doctor will be here. I can give him any sum he wants, as soon as WEO is mine. And I will find peaceful means of getting Quatre to sign WEO to me... it's the least I can do. ...For _her_. Another thing, Rose. Quatre hasn't written out a will yet, so if he dies, though traditionally WEO _should_ go to me, the next closest male heir, I'm sure A'mal will argue that in the court. She already doesn't trust me."

Rose hissed at that. "Do whatever. I just don't think you realize that you're playing with fire here, challenging the Earth-Space Alliance like this. And if you ask me, I think you're going to die too."

"Didn't ask you," Mujahid murmured, turning to leave. He began to walk out, passing Rose.

Behind him, Rose smirked. "The things that keep people from playing nice, my husband? Sex and money. It all comes down to sex and money."

Mujahid walked off, knowing perfectly well that part of his drive was his nephew's money. However, sex? Then he realized that Rose was talking about the woman he had once loved. But no, he thought. That's what was really keeping him from murdering Quatre like the others.

* * *

Lady Une rubbed her temples with a sigh. Damned headaches. She swore that the job she had now was far more taxing than the one she had with OZ during the war. Being commander of the Preventers didn't grant her just a single mission from higher ups, no. She had responsibility over _everything_ that went wrong in the Milky War. It wasn't that she didn't gladly undertake the job. A part of her wanted to make ammends for her former sadistic life. The other part almost wished it was still war time and all she had to do was shoot, not think. Treize did the thinking. 

"Commander!" Noin entered the room and stopped in front of Une's desk with a salute. She looked perplexed, but being a former military soldier herself in OZ, she knew how to mask it.

"Preventer," Une nodded, and Noin relaxed her stance. "What is it?"

"It's..." Noin bit her lip. "The central office's all got an e-mail. Didn't you get it too?"

"I haven't checked it..." she answered slowly. She loaded her computer and entered her internet browser. She loaded her mail. Indeed, a new message from some untrackable source. Her heart thudding, she clicked the messade. Une, being not one who was faint of heart, did not lose her breath when she saw the picture of an unconscious Trowa beaten to a pulp. She did not lose her breath when she saw the message: '_FOR YOU I WON'T BE SO MERCIFUL_' because she was a war veteran and was used to dirty tactics. But she lost her breath when she saw the signature. "... Oh my god." she whispered. "I killed you..."

* * *

Quatre kept his promise, even if a little late. The next day he took Relena out to tea. London had a nice English tea shop called "Daybreak Roses" which served everything from brown to green to chai to Russian tea. The pair had a few well deserved free hours and had chosen (perhaps unresponsibly so) to not spend them doing paperwork. Instead they met at noon, dressed in casual clothes that would hopefully not make them recognizeable. Outside of the shop, Dane Chaser the bodyguard sat on a bench reading the newspaper casually. 

"I think we made the paper again," Relena said with a smile, looking out the window. They were seated in a small two-person oak table. True to the name of the cafe, a small vase of pink roses separated their tea cups. "Look, I can make it out - 'Heated Debate Arises at London Meeting'."

"You don't say!" Quatre feigned interest. Being in the paper stopped being exciting for him when he was five.

"You're making fun of me!" Relena laughed, catching on to the mild sarcasm. "I'm sorry that I'm not a born celebrity."

"What? I'm no celebrity." Quatre blinked. On the colonies, at least, 'celebrity' referred to movie stars and pop singers, not multi-billion dollar heirs. But then again, sometimes Relena had a funny way of putting things. "Your father was famous, too."

"Yes, but I wasn't going to _inherit_ anything," she said all-knowingly. "After he left office I would've just been a normal girl again."

"Ah." He had no answer, so he sipped his tea. The tea wasn't bad, and was certainly better than the generic stuff that most business buildings offered alongside the coffee, but he had tasted better.

"Did you hear..." Relena leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if she was telling a great secret. "Dorothy Catalonia is going to apply for a Preventer's job?"

That _did_ spark Quatre's interest. "She is? I'll be sure to recommend her to Commander Une."

"You would?" She looked surprised. "Even after all she's done? I mean, of course I knew that she should be forgiven. She was my friend and I bailed her out of all of her war debts. But is she the most trustworthy? She is very manipulative."

He paused, trying to give an honest answer. "She's a good person. She has a drive in her that is fascinated by fighting, but I believe that she hates wars. And when you say 'after all she's done', remember who the Preventers commander is."

Relena nodded. Her hand crept toward the rose vase in the middle of the table and she took one of the flowers, holding it and suddenly seemed pensive. She looked out the window again and sighed. "I wish that we didn't need Preventers, and that people could just have peace. Why is there still fighting? Why does Heero have to go and fight, when I need him here to keep me strong? Why can't people realize that the war is over?"

"Careful, there's thorns on these roses.." Quatre answered cautiously as she ran her fingers down the rose's stem. "Miss Relena, I think that wars aren't just a group of people killing one another. I think that there are wars in our hearts, and people just need a little time to calm those. They are changing, though, I know they are. "

"Quatre, thank you. You're such a great-" Suddenly, Relena's eyes bulged. "Oh, oh my God! Quatre, _guns_!"

_BANG_. Relena shrieked. Quatre turned to the sound to see three black trucks parked alongside the relatively empty road. He saw five armed men and two armed women all wearing dark ski masks right away - he also saw Dane Chaser on the cobblestone ground, bleeding. _Dead_, Quatre knew as he felt the man's soul leave his body.

"Get down, get down!" Not waiting for the instruction to go through Relena's untrained ears, he grabbed her arm and yanked her below the window. They crouched under the table, beneath the panick that had broken out in the tea shop. The people in the shop were running around aimlessly, shouting in terror. The smart ones hid behind the clerk's counter.

"Q-Q-Quatre!" Relena said in a half snivel, half whisper. "Mr. Chaser ... he's dead! He's dead!"

"I know." Quatre's soldier instincts were clicked on and he was calm. Dane was a fallen soldier - there would be time to grieve and blame himself later. "Some terrorists must've followed us here."

Relena gasped but quieted. She was probably wishing that Heero were here right now. Then she said, "Quatre, I'm going to go talk to them. I won't.. I can't give in to this violence!" She started to rise.

Quatre pulled her down. "_No!_ If you go into their viewpoint I don't think you'll live long enough to open your mouth!"

The door to the tea shop, which some customer had had the sense to lock, was kicked down. The terrorists poured in, and in the confusion and screaming, Quatre knocked the table down to its side and pushed Relena down, indicating that she should hide behind its cover. He glanced at the window, thinking. It had glass on it, but if he could get out there he could grab the gun from Dane's dead body. In fact, he would probably have two.

"Quatre Raberba Winner!" a coarse woman's voice said. They heard the cocking of a handgun. "We know that you're here. You've got five seconds to show yourself or we'll blast open the heads of everybody here!"

He cringed from behind the table. So it was him that they were after. He wasn't about to let everyone else die. Okay - he'd show himself. He jumped to his feet and dived toward the glass window above him. His fists flew in front of his body, and they successfully smashed it to allow him through. Nevermind the bloodied hands and glass that pierced his body as he went through the window. It went deep, and he could feel red liquid streaming down his limbs. He ignored it. _Time for that later!_

Something he hadn't seen from the crouched position under the window were the terrorists that were waiting outside. There was four of them. Without allowing himself time for surprise, he jumped onto Dane's body, ignoring as best he could the hole in his head as he reached into the man's belt. _Two guns._ Before a second passed, they were in his hands. He heard yelling from the terrorists, but they apparently hadn't readied their guns yet. He was still in one piece. Quatre would beat them.

"_Drop the weapons and put your arms up now!_" someone was yelling.

Quatre crouched behind the side of the bench, separated from the enemy. "You've got one chance to surrender!" he yelled back. Only after the words did he vaugely realize how silly that must sound coming from a single, small boy and not the towering ferocious Sandrock. Well, they would find out how serious he was very soon. "But I am going to fire if you don't back off right now!"

"Fuck, get him!" a husky voice shouted.

"Shoot him!"

"Don't kill him!"

Obviously, they weren't going to surrender. Quatre narrowed his eyes and aimed. A soldier was running toward him blindly. Quatre's fingers were just beginning to press against the trigger at that soldier's head when all of the sudden--

_BANG_. That soldier fell down dead. Quatre had not pulled the trigger. He allowed himself a split second to risk turning around to judge the newcomer as a friend or a foe. Who he saw was Wufei. The Chinese soldier stood on the pavement, smirking a battle-happy smirk. He wore a dark leather coat on top of his white uniform top - Allah knew how many weapons he was hiding there.

Without any more hesitation came the confusion of a firefight. Bullets were flying everywhere. The the sounds of screaming and gunfire pierced through the air. It was like the war all over again. _Aim, trigger, bang_! Wufei was crouched down next to Quatre behind the bench. The enemy hid behind their trucks with a mixture of rifles and handguns. Makeshift weapons acquired from the black market. War remnants. They would poke their heads out from behind the truck to see where to aim. Most of the time at that point, they would only earn themselves a bullet for a battle trophy.

"Winner," Wufei smiled, reloading a gun at lightning speed. "I tracked you from your vid-phone."

"How'd you know?" Quatre asked, showing as much surprise as he could muster during the battle. He saw a head peak out from behind the hood of one of the trucks. He shot. He hit. There was a groan of death and Quatre winced briefly as he felt the last seconds of the man's soul.

"I didn't. I came to say good-bye because I wasn't planning on being back on Earth for awhile." Wufei lowered himself onto his stomach and fired underneath the truck where he saw defenseless targets. There was a sickening howl as legs and ankles were showered with a stream of bullets. "Damn, these weaklings don't deserve firearms!"

As if on some kind of cue, there was the sound of a helicopter approaching in the sky. Wufei swore as they looked up, but thankfully it was the British police force. The helicopter hovered above the buildings. "_Terrorists! Lower your weapons now or we will open fire_!" someone was saying through a microphone up high.

The remainder of the terrorists threw down their guns and jumped into one of the trucks with the sounds of cussing. They slammed the pedals and went roaring down the street. Wufei was about to follow on foot, but Quatre held him back. The fight was already won. They were gone and posed no more threat.

"Over already?" Wufei gave a mocking sigh. "Oh well. I'm glad I did go to find you before I left for the Artemis. What the hell did you do, anyway?"

Quatre's soldier instincts clicked off. He dropped his guns. They fell with a _clank_ on the ground as they slid out of his sweaty hands. He put a hand on his face, feeling the blood on his hands against blood on his cheek. "I don't know. I don't know! Relena's in there..."

They rushed into the tea shop. "Is everyone okay?" Wufei asked, surveying the area. There were some busted up tables and broken glasses, but thankfully it seemed like the terrorists who had entered the building left as soon as they saw Quatre do so. The bystanders, presumably innocent, were sobbing with relief.

It was Relena who seemed to have taken charge. She stood over a broken rose vase, telling everyone to calm down. When she saw the soldiers, she turned to them without her usual smile. "I took the liberty of calling the police. Thank you for protecting these people." She looked grave, almost angry.

"Relena.." Quatre said quietly. His face was red shame as well as blood. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault we were attacked," she said simply. But the way she looked at him revealed that she knew it was a lie. "Okay, well, it's not your fault that there are people out to get you."

"What? So they _did_ come here because of Quatre?" Wufei asked, looking critical like he always did when he heard information that didn't benefit him. When Quatre didn't answer, Wufei grabbed his arm roughly and did not let go. "Relena, cover this up. Don't let them know that Quatre was fighting. Quatre, I'm taking you to Une."

"I can't go," he said miserably. "I have meetings... Who will represent Winner Enterprises?"

Wufei turned to him. "Look at yourself. You're too bloody to represent anything right now." The look that Wufei gave him said that he had best not argue any longer, and he went with his friend without further complaint.

But on the jet to New York, as Quatre stared sullenly out the window, he realized how right Wufei was. He _was_ too bloody. Not just the cuts and scrapes he had acquired during the firefight. But the fact that he so readily found his way to weapons and so easily shot down his enemies, and the fact that he acted too damned mechanically to care at the time when his trustworthy bodyguard took a bullet to the head. He was too bloody for a WEO, too bloody for a representative of the Earth-Space Alliance. Too bloody for a pacifist.

* * *

"Heero! _Heero!_" 

Heero glanced at the figure running toward him waving. Of course, he already knew who it was. Duo had arrived at the battle station Artemis thirty hours before he had. The Artemis wasn't big as far as stations went - it was more like a medium sized building with a decent underground storage facility on Phobos, the larger of Mars' moons. Though there had been attempts to artificially stabilize the atmosphere and make Phobos liveable, it failed just as much as it had with Earth's moon. Visitors had to wear space suits until they were passed the transfer chamber. Heero smiled, though his smile tended to look more like a smirk. He knew that he would regret thinking this soon enough, but at the moment it was nice to see Duo's face.

"How you been, buddy?" The American asked, grinning. He had a white stick in his mouth and at first Heero thought that Duo had perhaps taken up smoking. But when the Deathscythe pilot removed it he saw that it was a sucker. "I've been bored to tears waiting for you, only Howard and some heartless Preventer types to keep me company! And noooo, says Ms. I-Am-God Une, Duo Maxwell can't go take a mobile suit and start blowing shit up! Man, I'm so antsy to get out of this dump. It'll never stop being weird that I'm in a military base and I'm not under arrest or in hiding! I tell ya, Heero!"

"Nice to see you, too."

Heero and Duo went together around the grey, brightly lighted hallways. Duo chattered on about something or another and Heero made an honest attempt to listen. But by the time they arrived at the conference area where the head of the station, Mr. Demitri Aleksandr was waiting, Heero had already told Duo to shut up. A part of him wouldn't have minded listening to his talkative friend a little longer especially after such a quiet two-day trip, and he wondered briefly if silencing the boy hadn't just become habit. Like a part of his exterior personality that he had to live up to. Oh well - it's not like anything he said would truly shut the American up anyhow.

"Preventer Yuy!" Demitri Aleksandr saluted military style. It was appropriate, Heero knew, because like many of the Preventers Aleksandr used to be in the military. A stout, muscled Russian man with a shave head and piercing eyes, Aleksandr looked the part and had been the practical choice for a battle station.

"Sir." Heero didn't salute. He just nodded. Duo shot him a dirty 'be polite!'" look, which he ignored without scruples.

"Commander Une contacted me earlier this morning," the head said, choosing to ignore the disrespect that he probably wasn't used to. "You and Maxwell will both be allowed one mobile suit from our storage to infiltrate the barriers around Ereshkigal facility area. She has given orders that you are not to leave until Preventer Sally Po arrives, and in the meantime you may configure the mobile suits to your likings."

"And Wufei? Is Preventer Chang coming with Sally?" Heero asked, remembering his conversation with the Chinese soldier.

"He is staying back on Earth at the moment. I don't know the details but he contacted Commander Une and reported that he was returning to New York."

"Why, what's up?" Duo chimed in curiously. "There must be another conspiracy right on Earth, one twice as big and bad as this! That's all that could keep the Hero of Justice away from an MS battle!"

"I think you're right." Heero agreed.

The pair of ex-pilots-turned-pilot-again trodded down to the storage area after Aleksandr had given them an overly excessive amount of technical data that they had no use for. The elevator was small and creaky, but when they finally arrived down in the garage area they were pleased to see a good seven mobile suits (potentially nine if one put the junk lying on the floor together). They were pretty crude though, as Duo pointed out. Heero figured that such an out-of-the-way station probably got the short end of the stick for practical reasons.

"It'll take _forever_ to get this piece of crap the way I like it," Duo whined, putting the hand on the leg of on the suits. He sighed and patted it reassuringly. "But at least it's a mobile suit. It'll be nice to take the seat again!"

Heero shot him a cold look. "Nice, huh? That's how you think of it?"

"What! No, I didn't mean that!" Duo shook his head vehemently, waving his hands. "I just meant, it sure beats handguns. All I want to do is get this dumb mission over with and go find a nice colony. Settle down, you know! Find me a wife, a dog, a nice fenced in cottage.. aw, don't give me that look, pal. You're taking everything too seriously!"

"Maybe I am." Even though Duo was kidding about the clické ideal life of the wife, cottage and dog... Heero wondered briefly what that would be like. Having a home, that is. He realized then that Duo didn't know any better than he did. He didn't press the matter any more and climbed onto an arm of one of the mobile suits.

"Like that Aleksandr guy, Heero!" Duo continued. "You were all cold toward him. I know you're cold toward everyone but you acted as though you'd just as soon kill him than the bad guys."

Heero was about to ignore that and everything else that Duo said for a good ten minutes or so, but he chose to answer instead. "I just find it ironic that it's the people who used to fight the wars and even start them that are now claiming the position of Preventer. When I see men like that all I can think is it's still the same thing."

"No it isn't. We're soldiers, too, and if they didn't have us, who'd be stopping these bastards from making Gundams?" Duo sounded as though he were trying to reason, but couldn't hide a slight anxious edge to his tone.

Heero had no answer. His thoughts drifted toward Relena as he rewired the mobile suit he had chosen. Relena had answers and an ideal of total pacifism, and more than anything he wanted to see that ideal become reality. But not for the first time he wondered if it simply was what it was - an ideal - and one that humanity would not.. no... _could not _ever achieve.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED . . . **

**Author's Notes:**

1. I'm trying to be culturally inclusive. So that one dude is Russian. That and I love Russian names. I wish I had a Russian name.

2. I really don't like using OCs, especially if they're girls. Obviously Mujahid is an OC. I don't think he's a Gary Stu, but hey guys, let me know if he is. :-P Rose on the other hand, yes, is also an original character but she's also going to be a symbol throughout the rest of this story. For those of you who haven't caught on, I've been using roses in this fic for symbolism. well, now you know.

3. I've definitely given Relena quite the personality here... be it on purpose or pure subconscious accident I think I made her a mix of Spoiled Brat Relena from the first half of the show, and Queenly Super Relena from the second half. Well, whatever. Since this fic is kind of about people not being able to completely change in a short time anyway...

Thanks for the reviews, everybody. :-)

-Serria


	5. Masks

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Gundam Wing... I would pay someone to think of cool, original disclaimers. Man, am I sleepy.

* * *

**Chapter 5: MASKS**

* * *

_Dear Journal: _

_Our lives are pretty insignificant. My life is, at least. I wonder if I died, and if they remade me with a swab of DNA... would that still be me? Genetically, it would be so. For being the most precious resource, even normal human life goes cheap. The second it took them to fire the gun at Haifa undid fourteen years that it took to make her the way that she was. I don't know the answers to anything anymore. I never did have the answers, that is. I just have more questions now. What is it that makes life what it is? How do I know that I have life, whatever it is that defines that? I'm not afraid of dying and I won't be, not until I find out._

* * *

Trowa's eyes were closed, but he was awake. It was a feeling both sudden and gradual - not a quick change but it had been a definite point when he realized that he was conscious. The first thing he did upon waking was to slowly attempt to move his fingers. He could feel them brush against eachother, proof that he could control them. This was good. _Apparently I'm alive,_ he thought through a foggy mind. From there, ever so slightly he tensed his arms and then attempted to bend them at the elbows. No good. With more determination, he tried again. This time he felt something metal holding his wrists firmly in their place. With a start, he tried to move his legs too, but they felt shackled down. 

"Huh.." Trowa let the slightest sound of confused surprise leak out of his lips, but immediately he closed them again. He was restrained. Why? He couldn't remember. He couldn't-

"You awake?" a man's voice asked.

Trowa didn't answer. He had to think. A Gundam? No... gundanium. Gundanium, blood. His blood. All that went through his head were battles. He could see guns in his hands, he looked around from the windows of a mobile suit. _Give it a moment,_ he heard a voice say in his head. _This isn't the first time you've lost your memory.._. Then in an almost cautious way he recalled the circus. He remembered a tall girl in a pink leotard, with feathers crowning wavy brown hair. "Catherine," he whispered before he could help it.

"...Quaterine? Did you say Quaterine?" that man asked with an almost soft surprise.

The way that the man's voice pronounced 'Catherine', with an alternate emphasis and stress suddenly made Trowa think of Quatre. Quatre! The thin golden boy by the piano. Trowa made out Quatre's fair face, and suddenly it all came back to him. The Preventers. Lady Une, Wufei. Gundam pilots, the mission. It was misty, but it was there.

Suddenly there was a sharp stinging across his face - the man, whoever it was, had slapped him. Trowa subconsciously jerked his head away from the direction of the hand and opened his eyes. He cursed himself at first. His interrogator, whoever it was would see that he was awake and if Trowa knew interrogation there would be torture. But while they were open, he took in his surroundings. The room that he was in was small and everything was white - floors, walls, ceilings. If Trowa hadn't been restrained by metal cuffs around his ankles and wrists on the white bed, he might have thought himself in a hospital. There were two men in the room. One was a tall, lean man with a shaved head and sunglasses standing with his arms crossed by the door. The other, the man who had hit him, stood right by the bed. He was a handsome man who looked eerily familiar. He didn't look like a fighter but he was well built. Shaggy brown hair fell to his eyes and he had a short beard.

"I knew you had joined the land of the living," the handsome man said with a smirk. "And about time, you've been out for three and a half days."

Trowa just stared at the ceiling blankly. He wasn't sure how to play his cards yet, or what the best act would be. He would wait and let _him_ do the talking.

"Your little fight cost you twelve bullets lodged all over your body, three broken ribs, and head trauma, without of course mentioning serious blood loss. You were about dead when we decided that you would be of better use alive..." The man bent over, his face near Trowa's. "...if you don't prove yourself otherwise."

"What are you proposing?" Trowa asked calmly. There was no point in feigning innocence or being stubborn. What mattered was being smart. He had blundered before, and he didn't mean to do so again.

"Some information, for a start," the man answered with a tone just as calm. _A businessman_, Trowa thought. Fine. He would play in his field.

"I owe you answers for saving my life. Ask away, I have every intention of cooperating to the best of my abilities."

"Do you!" There was a slight accusational tone in the man's words. "Are you not a Preventer?"

Trowa allowed himself a smile, albeit a small one. "I'm just a mercenary. I took up this job from some man named Chang. I'm called Trowa Barton, might I ask what you are called?" Trowa gave his real name - if one could call it a 'real name' - without a second thought. It wasn't like he had an identity to protect.

The man paused. "You may call me Mujahid."

"Is this you operation?" Trowa did not fake his question. He asked in honesty with the intention of getting honest answers in return.

"I am funding it. The Preventers don't know this?"

"It was never mentioned to me." That part was truthful. Trowa frowned, thinking. Then he said, "Mr. Mujahid, you seem like a civil man of business. Despite my particular line of work, so am I. The difference between us is that my loyalties are purely economic."

Mujahid seemed surprised, but not totally unbelieving. "You want me to pay you credits along with your life in exchange for your 'particular' services?"

"He's bullshitting you," an amused woman's voice purred.

Trowa craned his neck to see the owner of the voice. At first he thought that maybe she looked familiar, and wondered if his mind had not fully recovered all of his memories to place a name. But no, there was no name to match the face. Just a woman, tall and pale with a striking look in her eyes and a dark red dress with a neck line that fell provocatively right above her breasts.

"You said so yourself, Rose," Mujahid chided. "We're all motivated by, what was it, money and power?"

"Sex and money," she corrected. She eyed Trowa with a cool expression. "He's bullshitting you. You'd best... ah, make _certain_ that he means what he says."

Mujahid's voice was formal, though lightly irrate. "Rose.."

She curved her blood red lips into a smile as she gave Trowa one last look before turning to Mujahid. "Come, my dearest love. We have more important things to take care of. I was just received a video message from the long lost scientist. He comes to us."

Trowa gave the shackles a hard pull, more to feel them and their structure than to attempt to break them. He twisted his wrists, ignoring a pain in his arms that he could only assume was gunshot wound. That approach proved useless. And it was thanks to that damned devil woman, too. Mujahid seemed compromising enough, but this Rose reminded him of a cross between the sadistic old Colonel Une and Dorothy Catalonia. Now he would face interrogation. Just like old times, back during the war.

"What!" Mujahid didn't hide his surprise in any formality as he responded to his wife's words. "Why didn't you inform me immediately? When is he arriving?"

"Heh.." Rose chuckled smoothly under her breath. She was a tall woman and was looking her husband right in the eyes. Her arms were crossed and she stood just so casually that Trowa realized that she too was a woman of business, but with an entirely different approach. She wielded sensuality. "You come with me, my dearest, and I will let you know."

Mujahid scowled. "Fine. Orpheus-" Here he addressed the bald man standing by the door. "Find out for me if my wife's intuition is correct. Don't kill him." With that, he turned without another glance at the prisoner, and left with the woman called Rose.

Trowa steadied himself and made his face blank as the large, well muscled Orpheus approached him. Though the man looked like a hardened war survivor, and a fit one at that, the youth wasn't particularly worried. Pain passed, and all he had to do was stick to his story. His story wasn't even that far off from the truth.

Orpheus wasn't smiling either. Trowa closed his eyes, trying to mentally cut himself away from his body. It was a trick that he had used often enough during his time as a Gundam pilot - a trick that he had learned when he was very young. Too young, probably.

He felt his body break again, and he felt the blood and the bones and the bruises and the cracks. His face didn't move. He thought of the circus. What a strange thing circuses were. Their sole purpose in creation was to make people laugh. The crowd went to forget about their problems and their pain. They cheered more loudly when they had more to forget about.

And he was the clown. The mask he wore covered up a face that already gave no secrets away.

* * *

"What happened?" 

Under Lady Une's accusing glare, Wufei sneered. They had arrived at Preventer Headquarters, a place that neither he nor Quatre really wanted to be right now. They had arrived late at night, though through the large window they could see New York's streets glittering like the sun with streetlights and buildings. Une was in front of that window. She looked tired and angry, almost as though she were about to revert back to her former insanely evil self and kill them - had it not been for Noin standing right next to her.

Quatre, who had been standing quietly behind Wufei, stepped forward. "Commander, I... I'm sorry. It's not that important, and you look busy.."

"Shut up, Quatre," Wufei shot an arm out in front of the Arab, pushing him back slightly. "I just saved the golden boy here and Relena from a group of masked terrorists."

The commander's face darkened even more. Noin, who had been standing at dutiful attention, broke her stance and gasped. "Quatre! Are you okay? Is Relena okay?"

"It happens when you're in politics..." Quatre's voice was weak, sounding as though he blamed himself like usual.

"Quatre, _quiet!_" Wufei shot a look at Noin, then reverted his gaze back to Une. With a twitch of his lips he gave an arrogant smile, as if to say _good thing I was leaving and stopped there on my way out, Commander._

Une got the message, but showed no response. Instead she regarded Quatre coolly. "Quatre. Who attacked you?"

The ex-pilot looked startled. "Ma'am, they had masks on."

"Quatre! _Who attacked you?_" Her tone of voice was harsh, making Noin frown and Wufei grit his teeth.

Quatre blinked, his mouth slightly open. His cheeks went red, and for a moment he fidgeted. Finally he spoke in an unwavering tone, "I have reason to believe that it was my uncle, Mujahid Raberba Winner." At the questioning glances, he continued. "Awhile ago, a man threatened me after a meeting, and he mentioned that name."

"You didn't tell us? But Quatre! You should have!" Noin's concern was palpable.

"Mujahid Raberba Winner..." Une said quietly, calculating. "Who is he to you, soldier?"

"I'm not a soldier," Quatre snapped, surprisingly venomous. "Mujahid is a man that I haven't known for years. He claims to be a pacifist, like my father, which does not explain why he wants me dead for my money. I should explain - the Winner fortune and company passes down to the nearest, oldest male relative. In my father's case, that was me. I was made directly from his DNA. If I were to die, I suppose legally it would go to Mujahid."

"You think that this uncle of yours would go to such extreme measures?" Une asked. "After all, if we have reason to believe that he murdered you-"

"So what? We all know that the courts in both the Earth and Colonies are weak, if not even corrupt." Quatre's accusation made Wufei open his mouth to say something, but this time it was the smaller boy that cut him off. "With all the post war damage and heavy taxing, people are poor and the rich are rich. With the right connections and the right money, I'm daring to say that the court is too unstable still to place justice anywhere. Don't tell me that I'm wrong, Commander. The politics are my business."

"Alas, so it falls to the Gundam pilots to show the true meaning of justice," Wufei said in a tone between hatred and delight.

Quatre shot him a cold, cold look. Then he continued. "Anyway, I haven't spoken to Mujahid since A'mal sold him stocks and land in the 16.3-43.2YZ region. It was far off and useless to me anyhow."

"What?! That region? Quatre!" Une snarled. "Then... oh, God damn it. The pieces are falling into place." She leaned over to her desk and began typing furiously at her keyboard. As she did this, she spoke. "Sally is on her way to the Artemis to meet Heero and Duo. They are preparing to invade Ereshkigal 2. Wufei! We... have heard from Trowa."

"Trowa?" Quatre was wide eyed. "What happened? Is he all right? I knew something was wrong, but.. he isn't... dead, right?"

"Not dead," she answered. She turned her computer's monitor around so that Wufei and Quatre could see. "Not all right."

A still picture of a smashed up Trowa filled their vision. The Heavyarms pilot was swollen, black and blue and red. Quatre let out a horrified gasp, and retreated a step, only to run into Wufei. Wufei grabbed his shoulder, steadying him, and narrowed his eyes. "Who did this?"

This time it was Une's turn to falter. "It was... Septum. General Septum."

There was a silence, and then Wufei exploded. "What the _hell_ do you mean, it was Septum?! You told me that you killed him! You idiot, Une! And Septum worked for the Alliance, he _wouldn't_-"

"Will you quit your rantings for just one second?" she hissed. "Septum should be dead. He fell from the plane I threw him out of, and I shot him right through the head. I saw the bullet go, I saw the blood. In his head, soldier. You tell me that I can't assume he died." She calmed her voice, looking from Noin to Wufei to Quatre. "Point is, all these events are taking place in _those_ coordinates, Quatre. Septum isn't running this. He's working for someone. Someone who thinks that they can make Gundams again, destroy the Alliance, and who needs a hell of a lot of money to do it."

"It's my fault," Quatre whispered. "Oh Allah, it's my fault! Trowa.."

Wufei ignored his friend. "I'm going, Une. I'm going to Ereshkigal 2. Noin is going to go to London to guard the meetings and Relena. I'm also taking a mobile suit straight from the headquarters."

Une shrugged. "I can't stop you. If it's Quatre they're after, we'll keep him alive here."

"No!" Quatre cried out. "I'm going with Wufei! It's my fault that this happened to Trowa. Mujahid is my uncle! I'm going to go talk to him, I'm going to work something out... I'll pay a ransom if I have to!"

"You idiot," Wufei said, holding the boy's arm to keep him still. "It's not your fault unless you're the one who beat him to a bloody pulp. And I'm under the impression that that was Septum, the bastard who it looks like I am going to have to go kill properly because Une didn't."

There was again a fiery tension between Wufei and Une. Finally, Une said, "Mr. Chang is right, Quatre. We need you to stay here. Wufei, I will support you this time. In the garages, you may take one of the spare Leos. Take a shuttle with supplies as well, because-"

"I'm going," Quatre interrupted. He was trembling and his voice was shaking. "I don't work for you Commander. I'll use my own resources and my own ships." He turned around and began to walk away.

Lady Une slammed her fist down on her desk. "Quatre Raberba Winner! You leaving this planet, even leaving this building right now is a threat to the plans of the Preventers, and I will have you arrested!"

When he didn't stop walking, Wufei ran up in front of him and stood in front of the door, blocking the path. "You said yourself, you aren't a soldier anymore. You're a politician, and soldiers protect you." The Chinese warrior stood in a reluctant fighting stance with his fists up.

Quatre did the last thing that Wufei would have thought - he laughed. It was a low little chuckle, and it sent a chill down Wufei's spine. "Don't stand in my way." Quatre's fists raised as well.

"Turn around and I won't be," Wufei retorted, cracking his knuckles.

"Stop it, Wufei, Commander!" Noin yelled. She ran up to Quatre, slowly putting a kindly hand on his shoulder. "Quatre, you aren't thinking this through. You're a tactical genius when you're level headed, and that's why you're more useful in saving Trowa _here_, with Une. If you go there, I'm afraid that you won't be thinking clearly and you'll get caught, and end up like Trowa..." She ventured a step closer, her chest against Quatre's back. She hugged him. The Arab's angry face blinked, and calmed. Noin continued. "And put a little more faith in Trowa. He's gotten himself out of countless scraps before."

"I..." Suddenly, Quatre stopped breathing. His blue eyes widened but his pupils shrank as though he were staring in a bright light. His face paled, and his fists flew up to his chest as if he were having a heart attack. Then he fell to his knees. Noin, in surprise, dropped him.

Wufei ran forward, kneeling down and holding Quatre's shoulders up. "It's his empathy," he confirmed to Noin and Une. "He's seeing something." Quatre's eyes were now foggy and unfocused. His physical energy seemed to diminish. Wufei had to exert his own energy to keep the boy from falling over. The Chinese pilot held on, preferring to let the Arab see his vision through.

"Stop it, wake him up!" Noin shrieked in a whisper.

Wufei shushed her. After another moment, Quatre gasped desperately for air. He was heaving as though he had been through a taxing battle, and he squeezed his misty eyes shut. The color slowly returned to his cheeks, but maybe too slowly. When he opened his eyes again, they were bloodshot but normal.

"A'mal!" he cried out between pant after pant, but then his head swayed, and he lost consciousness.

"Oh dear Lord! Quatre!" Noin cried out. She turned glanced hurriedly from Une to Wufei, looking for some answer.

"It's okay," Wufei snapped. With as much gentleness as he could muster, he lowered the boy's shoulders to the wooden floor. "He's fainted, and he's back to normal. It serves your purposes, really. He'll be docile enough when he's knocked out, and probably if he's still tired when he wakes up."

"That's horrible, Wufei," Noin hissed. She was down beside the Arab, a hand on his sweating face.

"No, I approve for once." Une had been quiet during the episode, and looked calculating. "He said A'mal? His sister?"

"She's probably dead or hurt," the pilot answered indifferently. "Too bad, but it's convenient. The public can know then that we're hiding Quatre from potential assassination. Spare me the venom, Noin, this is war and we have to look for every gold coin in the pile of shit." He smirked at that. "Chinese proverb. At least it is on the colony."

"But it's _not_ war..." she said quietly. "Is it?"

Wufei gave Noin's plea honest thought as he took the honors of carrying Quatre to a guest room on a floor right below. As he laid the golden boy in the white cot, he wondered at what point a squabble became a war. But he himself had called it just that. Yes, to him it was war as soon as Trowa was captured. It was war as soon as Une received a threat from a ghost. It was war as soon as the enemy did something that made Quatre faint in agony.

Wufei loaded up his shuttle with not one but two Leos just in case. He broke gravity as he blasted off, promising to contact Une as soon as he landed on the Artemis. The youth watched outer space out of his window. It was ironic that space was a thing void of life and warmth, yet people looked to the heavens at night just to wish upon stars.

Then he thought, no. It was war to him from the very start, as soon as he heard about the gundanium alloy. It was war when he thought that maybe, just maybe he might be able to pilot Nataku again.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED . . .**

1. Wah, I was on a role there for awhile writing like crazy on this story. I was halfway through this one and I stopped to focus my attentions on that weird thing called "school" or something. And then I spent more time on the Heero one-shot fic I posted. And then I wasn't sure how to do this or where to cut it off.

2. This was a very conversation based chapter, ha ha. Sorry 'bout that. I just always find so much that I want them to say.

3. Wufei's kind of a jerk and I like writing with him.

4. I have a main idea in mind... but lots of the detail stuff just comes out as I write. So I don't know exactly what's gonna happen with certain characters. I'm killing off some, though. :-0 gasp gasp.

As always, thank you for reading everybody! It makes my day knowing that people are reading this.

-Serria


	6. Calculations

**The Grand Cessation**

**Disclaimer: **The reason I haven't updated for so long was because I was on a mission to actually own Gundam Wing. Mission failed... for the time being..

* * *

**Chapter 6: Calculating  
**

* * *

_6-30-AC193 Dear Journal, _

_There was a protest outside the estate today. A hundred men dressed in white cloaks and wearing masks, bearing staffs with large gold symbols of their religion, performed what they called a "peaceful presentation". They had signs with large print and I spent awhile looking outside my window reading every one. "_ONLY GOD'S BABIES HAVE SOULS_" and "_TEST TUBES AREN'T WOMBS: GO TO HELL_" and "_MONEY DOESN'T BUY SALVATION_" and "_LUCIFER THINKS HE CAN DO GOD'S WORK". Then of course the more personalized ones "THE WINNER FAMILY WILL BURN WITH THE REST OF THE ORGANIC MATTER COME APOCALYPSE" and "DON'T BOTHER PRAYING, YOU AREN'T PART OF HIS FLOCK_". Some man with a microphone, probably their leader, addressed the crowd and talked about the immorality of trying to "play God". But really I guess he was talking to us. Father was gone on a business trip in New Zealand, and I think they knew that. Which means that maybe they were really talking to me. I saw them through my window and I wanted to do something so badly, but A'mal did not let me. She told me that you can't force people to change what they believe, and it takes time and patience. I don't have patience and I don't want to give the time. Well, let them say what they want. I don't want any part of the WEO anymore. But it's my own decision, it doesn't have anything do with them._

* * *

Duo pranced down the hallways of the Artemis, straining to remember the base's layout. It was true that most new government space ports had near to identical body plans, but unfortunately Artemis was not a new port at all. If he had remembered right, the place was built in the 180s, possibly around the time he was born. Regardless, the mental history lesson was irrelevant to his little self appointed mission - escape Heero's dully silent company down in the garage and find Howard. He had _thought_ that his mobile suit was sufficiently prepared for battle hours ago, but when he suggested this to Heero, the Japanese boy literally laughed and continued his work. So Duo had continued to work on the suit, paying attention to stupid detail and feeling more and more bored by the second. 

_Where was that old guy anyway?_ Duo stopped and scratched his head. He could have sworn that he had checked the exact room where Howard had said he would be staying. The bastard wouldn't be trying to ditch him now, would he? It was _supposed_ to be the other way! And it was more than just a social call. There was no reason in the world why Howard needed to be anywhere other than down in the garage with Heero and him, fixing up the mobile suits. Not even the Gundam pilots themselves pretended to be as good of a mechanic as Howard.

"Agent Maxwell!" A young woman in a military uniform had come out from around a corner, panting. Her jumpiness and exhilaration reminded Duo slightly of good ol' Hilde. In a way it was a welcome sight. Not necessarily the bare fact that she resembled the girl, but what the thought of Hilde symbolized to him. In the back of his mind the drab, dull Artemis was replaced by the rebuilt colony in L2 that really did look like autumn.

"The one and only," he smiled as she continued. She even kind of looked like Hilde, same hair color and eye color. A little taller, but Hilde was kind of short.

"Uh, I've been looking for you, sir!" the woman said with an awkward salute. "Agent Po has arrived on base, sir! And she's requested audience with you and Agent Yuy! Sir!"

Duo laughed. Hilde was never so gosh darn respectful. The girl had, after all, at the flip of a coin turned against her superiors. Of course it was awfully nice for him that she did, but he sure didn't think it was respectful. "Yeah, yeah. About time she got here, too. Though, actually, I guess she got here earlier than expected, huh? Alrighty, lead the way, darling."

"Wait, one thing, sir!" The Hilde look-alike paused, as if remembering something. "Did you or Mr. Yuy leave the base sometime yesterday, or maybe the day before, and take a shuttle?"

"What? Hmm... Not that I know of," Duo answered thoughtfully. "Now, granted I don't babysit Heero, but he's obsessed with his mobile suit right now. He's not moving his ass anytime soon. In fact, good luck getting him to meet with Sally!"

"Oh. Well, we're missing one. And the cameras didn't get any footage of it."

"I dunno anything about it." Duo shrugged, but then like a lightbulb he remembered why he had been out wandering the labyrinth-like hallways in the first place. "Well, maybe it was Howard. I haven't seen him in awhile. And he can work anything with an engine and probably avoid cameras, too."

"What! But why would he want to do that, sir?"

"Ah, calm down, sweetheart. He's not a criminal! Or maybe he is, I don't really know who's deciding the criteria these days for what defines a law-breaker, but I hope they don't know _me_. Anyway, he's just used to living on the run." Duo grinned at the uncomfortable look on her face. Some people just couldn't comprehend what life was like underneath the golden book of rules. And it wasn't like Howard was a drug dealer or even much of a thief. As far as Duo knew, he just used to work for OZ and made some enemies that he would rather avoid. "Something probably came up. Don't worry about him though, he's a tough old cookie and smart as hell. I'm just glad that it was probably him that left, here I thought he was avoiding me!"

"But it's still illegal to take vessels without-"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Duo smirked. "He helped us freedom fightin' soldiers out enormously during the Eve wars, without him we never could've stopped OZ and the White Fang! He's a hero. Heroes don't have to follow any rules." The woman did not look convinced, and Duo sighed, realizing he was beating his head against a wall. "Enough of that old fart, he's probably just getting senile and paranoid, anyhow. Let's get to Sally, she'll throw a fit if we make her wait too long."

As they walked - and man, did they ever walk in that maze - Duo reminded himself that Howard was as spontaneous as any pilot. How many times had Duo left him without so much as a note goodbye? Well, he would certainly miss the man. He was certainly better company than Heero.

* * *

Quatre awoke to a searing headache. He promptly opened his eyes and sat up, by instinct twitching his muscles to feel for any wounds. There was nothing but some cuts, which he remembered acquiring from the firefight in London. The next thing he did was examine his surroundings, and he also recalled that he was in the Preventer's HQ. He had been brought to one of the 'guest' rooms, which were basic, militant and had a hospital feel to them. 

Something had happened to A'mal.

With this knowledge he stood up on shaky legs and took a moment to regain his balance. He felt shockingly weak and tired, but there was no time to rest in war. His brain was already spinning through calculations. He had to act, and he needed to gather an army of sorts. Now where was the nearest vidphone?

"Quatre!" As he had been opening the door, someone else was just on the other side. It was Noin, looking surprised and concerned. She grabbed his arm to support him as he stumbled. "Are you okay? We were so worried!"

The boy was very close to shoving passed her, feeling a surge of impatience. Instead, he smiled. "Thank you for the concern. I must've been tired and lightheaded. All of the meetings and paperwork meant apparently not enough sleep for me!" Then, more gracefully, he continued to walk with his head held high.

"Wait, Quatre!" She sounded worn out herself, but her kindness was there. "I'm worried about you. I think you should rest more."

"I've rested too long," he answered, looking on her with determination. "There are too many things I have to take care of now."

Her kind eyes hardened into frustrated anger. She leaned forward and looked as though she wanted to slap him. "Stop it! You're exhausted and over stressing yourself! Why won't you realize that you're still just a child, and let the adults take care of things for a change? We're making arrangements for WEO right now, it's all set up so-"

"Noin, I'm sorry." Quatre was honestly so. Noin's words were nice, but altogether alien to him. "I gave my childhood up a long time ago, and I can't go back now." He went passed her quickly to let her know that the conversation was over.

Noin's voice wasn't much more than a murmur. "For a boy who isn't a child, you still think like one."

The youth paused, slightly turning his head back to her. Then he continued walking, and this time faster.

"No adult would believe that one sacrifice, even one war could possibly destroy the aggressive side of humanity, Quatre. You're just a kid, and in a way I guess that's what I admired in you pilots the most. The fact that-" Here she caught her voice, though whether in a sob or a gurgle of laughter was unclear to him. "-that you believe something the rest of us are afraid of."

"What a thing for you to say, Miss Noin," Quatre answered without turning around. "You of all people don't believe that the world has changed after all of that?"

"I don't know what I believe. I just know what I see." Noin spoke quietly, but with enough force to make herself heard down the hallway. "Zechs... Zechs and Mr. Treize... especially Mr. Treize..."

"I'm sorry, Noin." Quatre had reached a door in the hallway, and he meant to not wait a second longer to turn the handle. "I need to figure some things out, too, but it seems like the world has no time for philosophers to sit and meditate. It's my fault that my uncle is out there, it's my fault we don't have Gundams anymore, and it's my fault that I haven't found a better way to make people realize the peace that we've achieved in my politics."

"What? Quatre!" Noin started toward him now, looking furious again. "Stop, Quatre! Commander Une will-"

He walked through the door and gave her one last look. He gave her an ironic smile, and spoke kindly. "Une can't do anything to me." He shut the door, cutting any conclusion to his statement short. He walked along the corridor. His eyes were downcast to the floor in his brooding, wondering vaguely if he should be avoiding people on his way out or if Une had realized that she would never be able to hold true to her threats of making him stay. _She can't do anything to me. I'm still... _

_...I'm still... _

"Quatre! Quatre Raberba Winner, how delightful!"

"Hm?" The youth looked up to see none other than the slender, mysteriously soft complexion of Dorothy Catalonia's exquisitely calculating face. She offered him a brilliant grin with pearly white teeth that might have looked even more natural if they were cat-like fangs. She wore a dark business suit that had embroidered into it her own personal flair and charm; almost like midnight with a long river of pale gold hair falling down her back like moonbeams. She looked like a feline ready to pounce. "Miss Catalonia! A pleasure as always!" Quatre said with a smile, though he could not cut down his feelings of being on edge.

"The pleasure is mine! But my dear, what a surprise to see you at such a place as this?" She was purring as if she was just making small talk, but her eyes were narrowed with curiosity. "A place like Preventer Headquarters!"

"It's a long story," Quatre said quickly and dismissively.

"Not that long, and I can guess the ending." She chuckled, crossing her arms. "A warrior finds a home in the battleground that he can never quite forget. Ah, how eloquently Mr. Treize would put it! But the truth is, Quatre Raberba Winner, the desert prince of peace, the sensitively sympathetic Newtype... you're here because you're still-"

_I'm still..._

"-a Gundam pilot." Dorothy's smile had vanished. She looked at him with hard eyes, but it was not an attacking gaze. It was almost as though she were squinting to try to see him better. "Take a walk with me, Quatre. We can have a nice conversation, like we used to have back in the Sanq kingdom! Do you remember those talks, my dear?"

"I'm surprised that you do," he answered. "But pleasantly so, of course."

"Why, yes! There is something fascinating about the pair of us, don't you think so, Mr. Winner? We're both here now, when neither of us really ought to be. Does it suit us? I don't think so. Maybe it's still what we are, even if we wouldn't care to make it our first choice. But regardless, we're both here to take up a sword. I'm applying for a position in the Preventers, and you're-"

"I have something I need to fight for," Quatre interrupted.

"And so do I, my dear. Now how about that walk?" Dorothy smiled brilliantly again, and Quatre considered her for a moment, deciding that she was the biggest threat when she was being sincere. People who found fighting beautiful were that way. The real question was then, a threat to who?

* * *

Trowa awoke for the fifth time in the stretch of period that he chose to call 'night'. Though his body ached more, by far, than it had before, this time apparently his captors did not see fit to keep him in any hospital room. He had now been stashed in a smaller, darker prison cell with only a small fold-down wooden cot hanging from the wall and a toilet in the corner. The floor was basic concrete, speckled decoratively with the pilot's blood. His contact to the outside world was a thick metal door with a small window toward the top, lined with bars. 

He laid on the cot, his knees up and his arms limply hanging at his sides. At the elbow they jointed upward to meet and handcuffs on his wrists - probably, in all honesty, a smart move on their part. Clumsy bandages lined his open wounds, though they weren't tightly bound enough to do much, anyway. The deep cuts were fine though, as long as he refrained from moving he could hardly feel them. It was the annoying bruises and burns that kept waking him up.

The whole _situation_ was clumsy. Really that was what annoyed him the most. But regardless, he had no plans to focus exclusively on his blunder. That did no good now. Trowa was a calculating youth, and he had already noticed something that bothered him. The metal on the walls was a dark steel. It was entirely different from the lighter metal that he had seen in the Gundanium plant. Of course, this could mean any number of things, but he was a little worried that after he had fallen unconscious after the "interrogation" (if one could call it such a thing, really all that had happened was that he had been pounded upon repeatedly by some unknown man named Orpheus) he had been taken to some cell _not_ at the plant. If so, the difficulty of escape would be raised. He did not know where he was.

Biting back his pain under an empty mask of an expression, he slowly sat up. Irritating, yeah, but he reminded himself that he had had worse. At least, he thought with an ironic smile that didn't make it to his face, he still had his memory.

Deciding that the best thing to do would be to get the process of standing up over with, he swung his legs over to the floor. He put weight on them. "Ahhh..." The heavy breath of a sigh escaped his lips when he remembered that it wasn't that long ago that there were bullets lodged in those legs, somewhere or other. And what had Mujahid said? Something about broken ribs.

He walked - or probably more accurately hobbled - toward the cell door. He grabbed onto the window bars for support when he arrived, and looked out the window. Outside there was a horizontal hallway, and by craning his head he could make out a number of cells. But the entire prison collection didn't seem too large, which at least meant he wasn't at any kind of jail. No, this was private, like those on a ship. Was he on a ship?

There was a guard by the entrance. It was a woman wearing a green uniform. Trowa found that part the most interesting, and he squinted to try to make out some kind of logo or symbol. Trowa took a breath. "Hey, you!"

The guard turned his way. "What? What do you want?" she asked, trying to sound irrate but Trowa could tell that she welcomed a break from the tedious job of standing still.

"I'm just curious," he answered as politely as he knew how. "Where are we, and do I get to meet with Mujahid again?"

"We're on his ship right now, the Hecate," she answered with a shrug. "We haven't left Ereshkigal 2 yet."

"Ah." So it was a ship. At least it was still on the comet. "And Mujahid?"

The guard responded, "Mr. Winner is a very busy man."

_Mr. Winner_? Trowa exhaled sharply, and when he did so his bruised ribs made him pay for it. He stumbled slightly, but held on to the bars with his hands. "Mr. Winner? Mujahid Winner?"

"Didn't you...?" The guard narrowed her brown eyes, and then a rosy blush filled her tanned face. She had caught her blunder. "I thought the Preventers knew it was him already."

Trowa's face was its usual mask of indifference. "I wouldn't know. I'm not a Preventer, I'm just a mercenary. They don't tell me more than they have to."

"I... I see!" She turned away to hide her embarrassment. "Well, then! Not like it matters, they'll probably execute you anyway! So, well!"

"Of course." Trowa said lightly, but his mind was working as fast as only a Gundam pilot's could. Mujahid Winner. The name wasn't familiar, but familiar enough. If there was a Winner funding a project such as this, it could only be a Raberba Winner. Mujahid must be of some relation to Quatre. The question was _why_? Quatre had a family of disciplined pacifists. "And the woman with him is his... wife?"

"Why do you care?" The woman was still flustered, apparently.

"I want to know as much as I can about Mujahid," Trowa answered truthfully. "After all, I have to appeal my case to him or else I'm going to die, right? I have no desire to be executed. I have a sister back at home who would be heart broken if I never returned."

That made the green uniformed guard turn back his direction. Women tended to sympathize with honesty, or at least what sounded like honesty. It was kind, but easy enough to manipulate. "Oh. Okay."

She was too jumpy. He needed to get on more personal terms with her. "I'm sorry. I've been impolite. My name is Trowa Barton. I did not mean to make you feel like you were compromising your employer."

"Oh, right." The woman had slowly brought herself closer to his cell door, and he could make her features out better. Cropped black hair and small brown eyes - it was hard to tell her ethnicity. Her skin was just dark enough to perhaps be tribute to any number of Earth countries. Though most likely she was a mutt to some extent, like everyone else. "No, you didn't. My name is Narisah Sarasvati."

"Regards." Trowa shifted his weight, as his legs were aching. He wondered how long it would take her to undo his handcuffs. "It might have been nicer to meet under different conditions though. Unfortunately this will have to suffice." He softened his voice and even offered the slightest of smiles to further express his sincerity.

"Unfortunately?" Narisah's face went pink again, but she didn't turn away. "You know, uhh..." She mumbled a little, as though unsure of what to say. "Well, she is his wife, yeah."

"Hm?" The girl was scatterbrained, however did she get a position in Mujahid's militia? She must have been cheaply bought. As that idea crossed his mind, Trowa wondered how rich Mujahid was compared to Quatre, and what the WEO meant to him.

"She wasn't the first woman that he wanted to marry, that's what I heard." The guard's voice was quick, almost girl-like in its quality. Maybe she was just a girl, and cared to gossip like the rest of the female race. "He really loved a woman who ended up choosing his brother!"

"Zayeed Ahmad Raberba Winner?" he asked the name of Quatre's father, if only to confirm that this was the same Winner.

"Yeah! So then he met Rose in London, years later. Did you know that she was a relative of Romefeller?"

"Relation of Romefeller? Rose Romefeller?"

"No, no, Rose Catalonia. They used their DNA to make a son in the test tubes, but it didn't turn out very well. Alyosha is alive. I think."

"No... I did not know that." It was Trowa's turn to be at a loss for words. Of course, it could be just a coincidence. And Trowa firmly believed that there were coincidences in the world - fate was a concept that he had no time nor patience for. He almost felt like the loner left out of some joke when within no more than a couple minutes of conversation he discovered not one but two names that made him realize how very grave this situation could be.

Narisah was close enough now, close enough that had his wrists not been shackled he could reach his arm through to touch her. Even as he tried to work the last names he had heard into his calculations, his mind also toyed with the idea of getting her to uncuff him and eventually grabbing and threatening her to open the door. And then a third part of his mind noticed that now he could see a logo on her uniform. The same symbol marked the left arm of her sleeve as well as her belt buckle.

It was an eagle with wings spread, as if it were flying. Trowa wasn't sure whether or not to find it ironic that eagles always symbolized freedom.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED . . .**

**Author's Notes:**

1. The diary entry at the beginning - yeah, those dudes kind of sound like the KKK. Well, we all know how insecure Quatre was about his origins as a 'test tube baby', and I thought, why would that be? When I thought of the futuristic world of Gundam Wing, I knew that there just had to still be heated social/political issues, and that's another thing I'm trying to address in this fic. Especially when those issues concern utter hatred for no reason - so when I thought of 'test tube babies' I figured there would be extremists out there who would think of them as lesser people, like the KKK does for non-white-male-Christians. However please note now that my "KKK" is not meant to consist of any particular religions and I'm not trying to offend (unless you are a part of the KKK.. my fic probably won't be your cup of tea.)

2. Hecate, Artemis, Narisah, Ereshkigal - anyone else noticing a pattern? Yes, I'm naming many of my people and places and things after mythological goddesses, particularly those of the moon.

3. I remember back when I started this fic, I was whipping out chapters every couple of days. Had it been like a month, month and a half now? Ohh, I've been too busy. Plus my internet has been down (and still kind of is) so I haven't been able to read/write as much fanfiction as I've been wanting to.

Thanks as always for those of you who have been keeping up with this peculiar rambling. :-) You are appreciated!

-Serria


End file.
